Desperately Seeking DC-3
by DimpleCurlAeternaGirl
Summary: Kate's personal narrative about why she was attached to the DC-3 toy plane. This is about her quest and willingness to get it back at any cost. Pre-island and post-crash. Multi-Chapter based on 1x12, 1x22, 1x23, 3x6
1. Chapter 1: Tommy Brennan

Disclaimer: Lost is owned by ABC Television and was created by Jeffrey Lieber, J. J. Abrams and Damon Lindelof, produced by Bad Robot Productions. I don't own it but I love it! :)

" **Programmed in self-hatred, many of us shadow-box the light of day away and chase everything meaningless the night..." ―** **D. Allen Miller**

I was on the run for over a year by then. I couldn't even begin to describe my life, living under the radar of the marshal and police. I was alone and lonely while trying to navigate and avoid the underbelly of society.

There was one person I would reach out to on occasion. It was rare. I didn't want to entangle them in my mess. I trusted him implicitly. It's the only reason I risked it. I despised Diane for reporting me to the police, but it went way beyond her accusations. Most of my childhood and teens were blotted with neglect and the abuse she exposed me to. She chose him over me. Always. But I still kept tabs on her. It was an old habit. I'm not cold-hearted. I'm not dangerous unless I am cornered and need to escape. The marshal was wrong.

Tommy, now Dr. Tom Brennan, worked at St. Francis Hospital in Iowa as a radiologist. I would occasionally reach out to tip him off when I was in the area. I gave him my alias so he could leave me a note at a designated location. I had to be cautious. Alert. Vigilant. A lot of people were looking for me.

I planned a quick stop at a motel in Indiana. This wasn't the first time, only a different location. I was circling Iowa. I knew Diane was sick, really sick but didn't know why. Tommy let me know she was bad off and hospitalized for tests.

I pulled into hotel. 10:00 a.m. People checking out. Maids waiting to clean vacated rooms. A family left with the door slightly ajar. I slipped in. I already grabbed a towel and shampoo as I passed the maid's cart. I needed to freshen up. I was a blonde for months and needed to change it back to auburn brown. I also changed the car's license plates to Ohio to somewhat local.

Midwestern highways were easy to navigate. Most of the land was flat and farmed. Cornstalks grew taller than me next to fields fenced off full of grazing cows and horses. Other fields were furrowed and fallow, waiting for planting next season. Miles, endless miles of green landscape. Many turned into roads passing through the heart small towns and villages with only a few cops at best. I never stopped for anything in those places except gas. Everyone knew each other. It put me on edge.

The letter was at the front desk under my alias, Joan Hart. Joan was for St. Joan, warrior and leader. I felt like neither but needed her strength to get through the next few days. Tommy stuffed an envelope with twelve hundred dollars in twenty dollar bills to help me. I read the enclosed note.

Diane was dying of cancer.

I cried over in the car when I left. I also cried because somebody cared enough to make sure I didn't starve. I hardly ever cried, but was returning to where I grew up, to ground zero of hurt and pain. Iowa was a fixture in my nightmares. I was anxious.

I'll admit there's a love/hate relationship between Diane and me. At least on my side. I hate what she did and didn't do, but she's my Mom. She drove my Daddy off after cheating on him and allowed a scumbag to move in. It didn't take long for him to show his true colors and turn our somewhat peaceful home into an abusive household. I got to watch her get beaten and hurt. I was five.

She turned a blind eye if he hit me. It brought it on my self was her response, if any. She was jealous of me as a pre-pubescent. Diane was twisted enough to think I was trying to catch Wayne's eye, the sick, drunken pervert she traded my Dad in for. He didn't try to put the moves on me then. He waited until I hit double digits before the lewd behavior started. I was still pre-pubescent but clever and fast.

I couldn't forgive her but was bound to be her keeper. It was role reversal. I was the Mom. She was the kid. I wasted 6 years of my life in Ames post high-school graduation making sure the bastard didn't kill her.

I was a straight-A student with scholarship offers away from home. I opted to piss away the opportunities, knowing she'd be dead in a year or less if I went. The beatings became worse as she aged. He liked younger women and his brother, the Chief of Police, turned a blind eye to it all. He was as bad as Wayne.

Wayne was dead and gone by then. The house blew up because the gas was on and he lit a cigarette. Was I involved? Yes. Did I light the fire? No, but I had to run like hell.

I wasn't going to be tried by a jury of my "peers" in Story County, Iowa. It would be 12 "Waynes" who would clamor for my blood, wanting to hang me before the trial. Nobody would listen to my side and what he did to me and Diane. They didn't before. Why would they now?

I wanted to say a last goodbye. I realized deep down, despite how much I hated her, I loved her. Why? She was the only Mom I had. And there were some good times clinging to my memories from when I was little. Tommy tried to talk me out of it. But I was determined and didn't like being told what to do.

I had nothing and nobody on the road and was clinging to threads.

* * *

I went to the hospital with a large bouquet of flowers. I already had her room number thanks to Tommy. Room 208. I made my way down the hall carrying a large vase of flowers to block my face.

My precaution paid off. A police officer was stationed at her door.

I used the flowers to hide as I passed. It made me feel sick.

I had no doubt it was because of Marshal Edward Mars, the sicko beyond obsessed with pursuing me. It went beyond my being a fugitive. It was personal.

* * *

I slipped into Tommy's vacant car in the garage. The flowers were parked in a room with an elderly patient. I saw Tommy drive in early he arrived. I was scoping out the place at the time.

It wasn't hard for me to break in. I learned a lot of unsavory skills on the road including breaking into cars and opening locks. I had my limits though.

I didn't want to scare him. "Hey, Tom." I spoke quietly to avoid startling him. I drank in the sight of my oldest friend. He looked the same except the doctor coat.

He jumped slightly, but wasn't completely surprised. He called me Katie. Hearing my real name spoken, coming from the mouth of someone who knew me best, warmed my barren heart. A few good memories surfaced. A sense of something I didn't have at home. Stability. He never changed.

Tommy asked what I was doing there. He warned me to stay away. It was too risky with security. He was the one person who understood without words why I did what I felt necessary. He didn't judge or condemn me. He didn't want to see me in jail.

I told him I had to come. Diane was dying. I wanted to say goodbye. I felt like I owed it to her in a way, even though I couldn't figure out why. I didn't talk about my guilt, shame and self-hatred. He already knew. Maybe she would tolerate my presence. I wanted to say I was sorry if I hurt her before it was too late.

Tommy eyed me carefully and asked why I was hanging out in the back of his car.

I looked at his sweet face, my best and only friend since I was five.

I needed his help.

* * *

Tommy drove us to his home. He was married and had a beautiful wife, Rachel, and son, 22-month old Connor. They were gone for the week visiting her folks in Cedar Rapids, Michigan. I admired family pictures on the fridge but felt a little sad with a tinge of jealousy. I stuffed it down.

It could have easily been me in those pictures if I had followed through and went to college with him instead of breaking up with Tommy. I sacrificed "us" to save Diane. I threw away our future plans and dreams to protect her.

In hindsight, Diane made her choices. Even though her choices sucked, she should have faced the consequences including lying about Wayne's abuse at the ER over and over. Spousal or child abuse stirred up rage inside of me. She enabled him out because of "love." She told me over and over "You can't help who you love, Katherine, and for good or bad I love him."

The few good memories with Diane were hazy with memories of moments. All of them were before she split from Dad. I was 5 when she made him move out of the old homestead she inherited from her parents in Ames, Iowa. Dad was on leave. She told him not to come back.

Before then, I was an army brat. We moved from base to base and stayed, whether he was there or deployed. I recall small things like enjoying bath time and trips to the beach when we were stationed in North Carolina. Little memories still flickered but most were buried under what happened after when she turned my world upside down.

Tommy was the only consistent person in my childhood. He saved me from utter isolation and loneliness. It kept me going. I had one friend who knew everything about me and my family, good and bad, and liked me anyways. Later, it turned into then loved. I almost felt at home in his company. Any sense of "coming home" resided in him alone.

Tommy was more than my friend. When we were teenagers, he was my first boyfriend and my first. I knew he wouldn't hurt or use me. I trusted him.

He was sweet and kind. The boy girls usually overlooked. We knew each other like the backs of our own hands. He was the skinny blonde boy next door who bloomed late like me.

He was my playmate, study partner, chore buddy and more. I helped him get his work done faster on the farm so we could play. When we were teenagers, he was my boyfriend. He was the one I met up with at night for adventures, when I was afraid to go home or upset.

I'd throw a rock at his window and he'd climb out and scale down the trellis to meet me. Tommy was my touchstone. He stood between me and an abyss that might have led to me self-destruct at an early age. I hated myself, my parents and life. He gave me hope and a future to dream about, separate, then our dreams co-mingled as we planned together while laying in a haystack and watching stars at night.

He made me feel fun, special, and smart. He was encouraging, sunny in nature and admired me. He was willing to do whatever I had a mind to, even if it was mischievous or worse. He'd usually talk me out of the plans he considered dangerous or crazy. I went through a phase of testing boundaries.

I talked him into helping me steal a lunch box. He was my lookout. I was caught by Mr. Springer. He owned Ames Central and knew my family. A blonde man paid for it and told me to behave, touching my nose. He even knew my name, Katie, but was a stranger to me. He got me off the hook big-time.

I would have been lucky to only be striped black and blue with Wayne's belt across my backside. Wayne insisted I strip down bare bottomed for beatings before putting me over his lap. I was 12 years old.

Tommy's parents never dissuaded him from seeing me. Mr. and Mrs. Brennan didn't judge me because of Diane and Wayne. Mr. Brennan knew my Dad growing up and was friends with him. My Dad was a transplant from Kentucky and went to middle and high school with him. I think their friendship held a lot of weight with their family. They knew. Everyone knew each other's business in small town. But nobody interfered in other family's problems.

* * *

I sat while Tommy made calls. He was able to get an MRI scheduled early in the morning for Diane. I would have only a few minutes to see her. It was already 2 a.m.

I wanted to thank him. He gave me a cautionary look and said, "You're welcome" before I got a chance. He He didn't think it was a good idea. I didn't either but was propelled forward by an invisible force and need

I asked if it was still there. He stated it was the middle of the night. I reasoned we may not get another chance. I had been thinking about it for a long time.

We left in his car after he loaded a shovel in the trunk.

When we arrived, I paced off 6 steps from a big oak tree in one of his family's fields. I shoveled dirt while he fished out beer cans from the trunk. He gave me one and drank one himself. I laughed and questioned him about it. He said no self-respecting Iowa man traveled without them.

He was quiet, then told me it wasn't fair I came back. He gave me a meaningful look. I knew why.

"I know." I felt bad. It brought up old feelings for him and me. Some of it was lingering hurt and loss from the demise of our relationship.

I was distracted when I heard metal hit the shovel and found it. It was the "New Kids on the Block" lunchbox we buried as our own personal time capsule. We were both 12. I tried to steal from the store to hold the items we were accumulating. We laughed at the sight of it. He came over to join me as I flipped the metal latch and opened the lid.

He pulled out his plane, the Douglas DC-3 propeller aircraft he got on a trip to Dallas for being unaccompanied during a flight. He went to see his aunt and uncle and was proud of the toy.

There was also a red baseball cap, an old baseball, a cassette tape labeled "Katie and Tom 1989" and other random toys we put in there.

He said he couldn't believe I made him put the DC-3 in. I laughed and said it was his idea.

We looked at each other when I held up the cassette tape. He still had a cassette player in his car, even though it was 2002. We climbed inside to listen.

Our voices were so young and innocent. We sounded like babies. Here's what we recorded:

Tom: Is it on? I don't think it's on.

Kate: It's on.

Tom: "Okay, this is Kate Austen and Tom Brennan and this is our dedication for our time capsule, here on August 15th, 1989. Hey, give me that back!"

Me: "Why are you putting this stupid plane in there?"

Tom: "Because it's cool, Katie. I got it when I flew to Dallas by myself."

Me: "Ooh, that is cool, just like this time capsule."

Tom: "It'll be totally cool when we dig it up in like 20 years."

Me: "How do you know we'll be together?"

Tom: "Because we'll be married and you'll be a mom and we'll have 9 kids."

Me: "I don't think so. As soon as I get my license we should just get in a car and drive. You know, run away."

Tom: "You always want to run away, Katie."

Me: "Yeah, and you know why."

The tape ended. There was silence.

The air was heavy, stuffed with unfulfilled dreams and the dark reality of the present. Tommy said it was funny how things turn out.

I agreed, tears streaming slowly down my face. I did run away. I ruined everything.

I was full of sorrow and regret, sitting next to the one person I could have seen myself married. But I had commitment issues. I wouldn't commit when he want to college and let the relationship take it's natural course. I was paranoid. Dad was a long-distance husband and father. It didn't work. I broke things off before he went to college.

We argued over my going with him since I had a scholarship to the University of Iowa, same as him. He wanted us to continue to date exclusively, even though I refused to go. I couldn't do it. I told him some girl would catch his eye and wanted to free him up but the truth was I had cold feet.

The scars I have now were still wounds back then. All of his kisses and love couldn't heal them at the time. The pain and abuse cut too deep.

I leaned forward and kissed him softly and sweetly for several seconds, my fingers under his jawline, my thumbs on his cheeks. He joined me right away. It wasn't a kiss of passion. It was something else. To me, it tasted of tears, regret, and goodbye with a trace of beer.

He drew back, and stared at me. He still cared, but I knew he was faithful to his wife.

That kiss was my fault.

I apologized.

He turned to the wheel and closed the car door. "We should get to the hospital." Time was drawing close for the MRI and we needed to be there ahead of time to hide me.

We drove there with minimal talk. This was a big ask on my part. I wondered if I would see him again after I left.

I needed to decide where I was headed next on the backroads of America.

* * *

Tommy hid me in a linen closet near the doors to the MRI. Tommy sent the porter away after she was parked in the empty hallway. I peeked through the wireglass window. He checked to make sure the coast was clear and motioned to me. His office was nearby. He told me to be quick.

I approached Diane. Her eyes were closed. She drained of color and wasted down to nothing. Tears fell at the sight. I wiped them. I hated crying. I developed a hard shell around me earlier in life that allowed me to hold most of them in. I said hi and asked if she could hear me. My chest started to ache with unshed tears. Something inside of me clung to the hope she would be glad to see. Maybe she still cared about me somehow, or even loved me. She warned me to stay away the last time. She had cold eyes and said she would turn me in.

Diane opened her blue eyes. I cried and said it was me, Katie.

"Katherine?" She barely croaked out my name. She always used my full name. Katherine means "pure." There are several Saint Katherines and Catherines. Most were martyrs.

I told her I was sorry for everything I put her through. She glanced at me with a distressed look. She started to softly call for help. I thought she was confused and reassured her it was just me.

Diane raised her voice and yelled help over and over. I tried once more to tell her it was okay but she got her full voice and started to scream. "Help! Help me! Somebody help me! Help me, somebody!"

Diane was ratting me out again by calling out the dogs. I didn't come armed or to do her any harm. She hated me. She always did. I knew it when she chose Wayne over my Dad and let him abuse us. I knew it when she swore me to secrecy and didn't believe me when I told her about his lewd behavior towards me. She said it my fault. I loved her anyways.

I stood there, like an idiot. I was dumb enough to think cancer might bring up some feelings of love or she would at least care about me, her only child. I loved and protected her when she didn't. I gave up 6 years and my future plans to keep her alive. I was winded. It felt like someone stabbed me in the chest. I didn't move fast enough.

A hospital worker ran out, unfreezing my legs. I ran head-on into a security guard around the corner. He asked what was going on. I explained I was her daughter and she was confused. I was getting a doctor.

He grabbed my arm when I tried to race off. He got on his walkie. "We've got a situation." I grabbed it and clocked him with it to get away. The heavy, black plastic shattered into pieces.

Tommy popped out of his office, eyes wide at the scene and chaos. Diane was still screaming. "What happened?"

I asked for his car keys, running. He ran after me, calling out "Katie!" It wasn't the first time he had run after me.

Tommy tossed me his keys when he caught up and stayed on my heels. I jumped into the driver's seat. He was already in the passenger seat. I firmly told him to get out. He said no and urged me to cooperate so they'd take it easy on me.

I refused and told him the cop is calling for backup. I could see a police car blocking the entrance to the garage. I had to leave immediately.

Tommy pleaded, saying I could have a real life. He had no clue how dire things were. I would never get a fair trial and couldn't afford a lawyer to help me. I was a dead woman walking as far as Story County.

I asked him to get out again. I pleaded with him.

I didn't want him to get hurt or implicated. I needed him to be safe and regretted getting him involved.

I yelled at him a few more times to leave me.

He refused.

Time was up.

I heard the sirens of more police cars making their way to the scene. Tommy buckled up. I was fearful of being caught, but only for his safety. I wanted to protect him. My life didn't matter anymore as much as his. He had a family and meant too much to me.

I hated that he wouldn't budge. I slammed my foot on the gas pedal and went for the garage exit. The officer was armed, gun pointed and standing outside of his car. I rammed through his blockade. Gunshots registered in my head but not until I was clear and on the road.

I was a few streets away and stopped. I would force Tommy out or run. I had no idea ... Tommy was shot in the chest. He was already gone.

I started sobbing, touching him, his face, his jacket, yelling "No" over and over. Guilt flooding my brain. It was all my fault. This was my fault. I killed my best friend. I begged for him to wake up but he wasn't breathing. There was nothing I could do.

I saw a cop car in the distance and leapt out. I glanced at the back as I exited and noticed the time capsule contents including Tommy's DC-3 plane but had no time to grab it. I jumped a barrier and went into a concrete, storm run-off and raced for my life to get away from the scene. My face was wet again. Sobs wracked my body as I sprinted on pure adrenaline to the car I stashed several blocks away.

My intentions were good but it didn't matter.

My biological parents hated me from early on. I was obviously bad or cursed. My best intentions were worthless and left a a wake of destruction.

I killed the best part of myself that day. Tommy was the one person who gave me a reason to look forward to the day, even mucking out stalls with him as a kid. He helped me survive.

He was good and decent. He deserved better. His wife and son deserved better. Instead, he ended up saddled with a poor excuse of a friend and former girlfriend - me.

I left his body when I ran and almost two decades of my life.

There was nothing, nobody left from my past I could talk to, remember with or depend on.

My life was spinning out of control.


	2. Chapter 2: Ruidoso, New Mexico

" **You're desperate, and so am I," I said. "Desperate people make stupid decisions all the time."** **Veronica Roth**

Marshal Edward Mars was on the hunt for me. It was 2002 and he hadn't managed to catch me since the bus station incident. He was able to book me locally then take me for arraignment to Des Moines, Iowa. That night in 2001, he ended up face down in the mud at night while I drove off in his car, thanks to a large, black horse that ran across the street and distracted him.

It became personal for him then. He despised me. Despite that I felt underneath that attitude and annoying accent, that he was beyond fascinated with me. He knew all about me and loved talking about my background, parents, upbringing, if my step-father touched me, and if I liked it.

He was supposed to be a marshal but was really the devil. I knew something wasn't right with him. No cop talked this way. He would have trained as a cop, right? Or did they make a habit of having sex talk with their female targets or doing a few things he did that I don't want to think about?

Now that Tommy was dead, Edward wanted to know if I "screwed him" to get him to do my dirty work. He also asked if we were lovers as teenagers and what it was like doing it in a barn? He was a twisted little pervert.

I wondered if the calls to his office were recorded or if he could edit them. He was obviously trying to get a rise out of me. I hated calling him but he was the keeper of the charges and added another one – a murder charge for the death of Tom Brennan.

Edward loved calling me Katie. I hated it. Only my Dad, Tommy and a few people around Ames that knew me as Katie. I went by Kate since high school. Not Katie, not Katherine, but Kate.

I called Edward periodically with an egg timer on. I knew exactly how long it took for him to trace a call, ones he liked to drag out, and would slam the phone on him each time when the ringer went off early. I didn't want to cut it too close.

I started calling him on Holy Days. I asked him to stop pursuing me since he was the lead on my case and explained the circumstances of Tommy's death. He had put me on The Most Wanted List.

I didn't kill Tommy. I told Tommy to get out of the car several times. That police officer shot him.

Edward liked to remind me that I was the one driving and escaping. That's when he started to taunt me about what was in the back seat. He had found the items and figured out Tommy and I had done some digging the night before. He found my fingerprints on the plane and the shovel. Edward asked what we were doing all night in the fields? Then he began to talk about the plane, teasing me that he had it hidden somewhere special.

I wondered why I had to deal with him? I didn't see Edward outside the office anymore, maybe because he couldn't find me. I went to Des Moines under cover for a while and he didn't catch me.

Edward let me know on a call that he had hid the plane in a safe deposit box in Ruidoso, Mexico. I did my research on the place. It wasn't' hard to figure out in a village of 8,000 people which bank it was at.

Not only did I find Edward and his sex talk revolting, but I began to go on the offensive. I started to call him not only at the office or on Holy Days but on his cell and at his home to aggravate him on nights and weekends.

He got really pissed off when I interrupted a family function and asked about his wife and two kids by name. I asked about the plane. He said I'd never be able to get it at . . . and started to say the name of the bank in a rare fit of rage. I hung up. I had what I needed.

An article from National Geographic said that truth and anger light up the same part of a person's brain in studies. If you get someone mad enough, truth will start pour out, usually against someone's will. That's how I got confirmation directly from the beast himself.

* * *

I navigated my way carefully into the criminal world, trying to figure out a way into the Federal Building in Des Moines, Iowa to Edward's office. I figured he kept the key to the safe deposit box there. It was more secure than his home, which wasn't hard to locate thanks to the internet.

I had made contact into the "underbelly" or crime world in Des Moines because of my need for fake identities. It was not a big hub so much as an intersection. It was a crossroads for major cities including Chicago, Kansas City, Minneapolis and St. Louis. All kinds of things were trafficked along those highways including stolen goods, drugs and I don't want to know what else.

I was in need of false passports for all of my aliases. I already had driver's licenses. I also wanted a contact that could get into the Federal Building for that safe deposit key.

I was directed to a man named Simon Pons. That wasn't his real name. It was a name he had either been given or assumed. Most people went by nicknames. I had none.

I was surprised when I reached out that Simon took a meeting with me right away. I had to disguise myself with my hair under a hat, coat and glasses and go to a bar in the morning in a bad part of town. I told a tall man outside who I was and he brought me back to meet Simon. I was also surprised I wasn't patted down.

I was led into a back room to find a large man with four men gathered near him as he sat at a round table. It was older, wood furniture stained a dark mahogany and the place smelled like left over cigarette smoke but was relatively clean. All my mental alarms were going off. I was strapped. I had two guns and a large knife on me in easy reach but I was small and already outnumbered.

It turns out I wasn't in any danger.

Simon stood and the other men backed off when he did. He walked over to me, face to face, and sized me up. He was an overweight man, maybe 6 feet tall and looked like a mix of Hispanic and African American. He took in my diminutive size. He was powerful. It wasn't his body, but his stance and aura. He was shaved bald and had a large diamond stud in one ear. He also wore gold, a lot of it.

Simon had gold rings on both hands with different symbols, one front tooth was capped in gold and he had a thick chain around his neck. He also had a lot of tattoos. I couldn't make out all of them but saw a deck of cards, a clock with no hands and a grim reaper with a scythe on his arms. He was intimidating.

I stood with my back straight and made eye contact. I had nothing to lose. As much as my legs itched to run, it was do or die for me. I didn't have another option on my destructive path to DC-3.

After a minute of sizing each other up, he started laughing and put his hand on my shoulder. He turned introduced me as "Iowa's Laila Ali," the little farm girl that broke Edward Mars' nose. The other men laughing along with him. He patted my shoulder and offered me a chair saying he had been wanting to meet me. Edward Mars and the feds was no friends to him or his business. He said any enemy of Edward's was a friend of his.

Small talk was minimal. We got down to brass tacks. He sent his men out of the room for privacy. I needed the safe deposit key and box number for the bank in New Mexico. I also needed the false passports so I could leave the country when ready.

Simon thought for several moments. I could see he was amused still to see me. His elbows were on the table and he rubbed his hands together while he thought like there was lotion on him. The rings flashed gold with specs of diamonds in the poorly lit room.

Simon said he had people planted in the cleaning crew and others he wouldn't mention in the Federal Building. If the key was there, they would find it. The box number would likely be on the small envelope the bank puts it in.

Passports were nothing, too easy. He waived his hand and said he was tempted to get the key as a "thank you gift" for what I did to Edward Mars. Edward got demoted and his team stripped away after I escaped.

In between his demotion and my escape, Edward was still in the field occasionally in a group of marshals. He was verbally harassed by Simon's people for what I did to him. The broken nose gave him two black eyes. The best part of the story to Simon was Edward being left face down in the mud while I drove away in his car.

Simon made me retell the story so he could hear it first-hand, then tell it again in front of his men. He shook his head laughing heartily. He said he'd work out good terms for me.

I would do a few easy jobs for him that didn't involve me racking up more charges or me physically be used or hurt. I would be safe. No drugs were involved either. I didn't exactly trust Simon but felt that he had some kind of respect for me. He nicknamed me Laila. Kate no longer existed in his realm.

The jobs were easy and it turned out he was paying me for them. My looks had to be temporarily altered to disguise me. I was a plant with some other girls gathering information on enemy territory with a few unknown guys of his filtering around to watch out for us.

I ended up walking away with four grand in cash, the key, and also information from Simon about who to contact in Ruidoso. Simon took a liking to me, kind of like a pet or prize, but I knew I was dealing with someone who did bad things well beyond my reckoning. I didn't want to stick around or get cozy. This wasn't my world.

Simon didn't know what was in the safe deposit box and didn't care. He came up some local criminals, a trio, trying to make a name for themselves with the bigger bosses. They were untested but willing and I could use them if I wanted.

He told me to beware of one man in the group I was being sent to. He said he is the smarter of the three and muy macho. He may be harder to convince that a tiny lady is going to run the show. I had the backing with him and his boss but on the ground, I had to show them who's in charge.

Simon was very blunt and said I might have to do something I don't want to convince the main guy. He was known to be a lady's man. It was my choice depending on how much I wanted what was in that box.

Simon looked at my somberly before I left. He said hoped not to see me again. He told me I don't belong in the crime world. I would end up dead. He said there are some things worse than death that could happen too.

My name was now officially Maggie Ryan and the bank robber wannabes were expecting me. Maggie was my alias for St. Margaret, Patron Saint of the falsely accused.

Simon told me to get the hell out of there and good luck.

* * *

Have you ever felt like something was mapped out ahead of you or something you didn't know was pulling strings to pave the way? I felt that way about Simon Pons and what happened next.

Usually, when fate or whatever it is guides a person, dumb luck even, it's for something good, right? I could have ended up in the wrong place with the wrong person and dead or worse, but I didn't.

But I wasn't up to any good. I was an emotional wreck chasing a small toy like it was a lifeline. Why would anything pull strings for somebody like me?

I was hitting rock bottom mentally and emotionally.

I would have never pursued the DC-3 otherwise, putting myself or anyone at risk. I was at the point I didn't care anymore about what happened to me.

I was depressed and hiding it under a hardened exterior.

I didn't think about other people and potential collateral damage with what I had planned. I loathed myself and what my life had amounted to. I lost everything and everyone I cared about. All ties were severed and I was adrift.

I had to have that plane, no matter what the cost was.

The DC-3 was Tommy, me, my childhood, and so much more encapsulated in cheap plastic.

* * *

I made my way to a location outside of Ruidoso to meet Jason and his two associates, who turned out to be friends of his, Big Brennan, who was 6'5" tall and heavy, and Rick. The latter two were idiots.

Jason was cunning and superficially handsome, but aggressive and had something to prove. It took some planning, but they knew I had come with the endorsement of Simon and the boss above him. It was their chance to prove something and get some business rolling their way.

Unfortunately, I ended up getting involved with Jason. I was that driven and willing to do whatever to convince him. It was hard to pretend to be "career criminal" and an ingénue at the same time, refusing his advances. I wasn't a virgin but didn't sleep around. I made my choice. To me, it was worth the price I had to pay.

I'm not proud of what I did with him but physically getting involved with Jason cemented the deal. I didn't enjoy being with him in bed, but I don't think he could tell the difference or cared. It was the final push that got him and his groupies galvanized. Before that, Jason was resistant and wanted to do things his way.

His two friends would do whatever he said. He acted like he was in charge, but started to back down and alternately treat me as an equal. I didn't care about him and wasn't in love. I had to fake it. He seemed enamored with me though, even though I was cold to him at time and fought to maintain dominance. I had to be a bitch at times, even hit him. I felt like I was in somebody else's body and life. I had no heart. My chest felt carved out and empty. Jason finally bought off on it and saw us as a modern Bonnie and Clyde.

I felt confident enough to go forward with the plan but his friends were half-wits and Jason was like a half-cocked frat boy and not always reliable. I wondered sometimes if he was taking any kind of stimulant drugs. Sometimes he had massive energy and enthusiasm. Other times he was calm and normal.

The clock was ticking. Edward had to know the key was missing.

I decided it was time to pull off the job under the pretense of going for the cash in the vault.

I would go in as a decoy to distract the bank manager and they would come in as masked robbers after. I would play it straight as the customer and stay that way. That included my staying behind to see what the people said to the cops and if they could be identified.

That part was a ruse so I could make a get-away on my own.

Jason didn't seem to be aware of my fugitive status or who I really was. He must have been living in a cave or hole before I showed up.

* * *

The day of the robbery had arrived.

I was in Ruidoso, New Mexico. I went into a bank, tastefully dressed in a form-fitting, turtleneck sweater, knee-high pencil skirt and heels. I wore my hair in a smart chignon with tasteful costume jewelry that appeared authentic and artsy. I was playing a role.

I was in a bank and sat across from a stern-looking man who was the manager. His name plaque said Mark Hutton. He was polite but didn't seem to smile much. The bank was quiet. It was mid-day with maybe 7 customers at the most milling around or talking to a teller.

"Okay, Ms. Ryan, if you just give me some I.D., we will get your loan application started."

I smiled and dimpled at him as I handed over my I.D. I was almost 25 years old at the time. "Of course." I said accommodatingly.

He copied down my information from my I.D. but kept glancing up appreciatively, trying to not be obvious.

"So, what brings you to New Mexico?" He asked.

"My work." I answered pleasantly.

"And what line of work is that?" He asked, pen working away as he wrote down my information.

"I'm a photographer." I leaned in as I answered." He was still writing, probably my answers by now.

"What do you photograph?"

"I do various jobs. Right now, I've got this little project." I said a little dismissively.

"No, I'm curious." He said, he watched me with a warm look on his face.

"It's a commission for a coffee table book - pictures of old movie theaters in small towns."

Mr. Hutton seemed charmed, not only with the idea but me. "Oh, there's a fantastic one down in Ruidoso."

My eyes lit up. "Really?

"Can't miss it. It's right on Main Street." He said with enthusiasm, a smile spreading on his face.

I smiled back at him. "If I use it, I'll give you an acknowledgement . . . I read his nameplate out loud this time. ". . . Mr. Hutton." I leaned back. He had a nice face and energy. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there was a conscious. It was almost muted, but I knew I didn't want him to be harmed. That wasn't the plan.

"Mark." He said softly, a shy smile on his face.

BAM!

The door burst open and someone shot a gun. It startled me, Mr. Hutton, the customers and employees. A few of the female customers screamed.

I spun around and saw three masked men, stockings pulled over their face, moving through the bank with guns. The shooter, Jason, wore a black sweater and shouted orders.

"EVERYONE DOWN ON THE GROUND! DOWN ON THE GROUND NOW!" He motioned for the tellers to back away from their counters. "STEP BACK! DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT! HANDS! SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!

On the other side of the bank, the tallest of the masked man, Big Brennan, pistol whipped the security guard at the front. The guard fell onto the marble floor. He disarmed him and tucked the gun sloppily in the back of his jeans.

The third robber, Rick, stormed into the bullpen. I sat there with Mr. Hutton. Rick grabbed me by my arm roughly and pushed me over to the center island of the bank. "GET UP!" He yelled at me. "C'MON! OVER THERE! ON THE GROUND! MOVE!"

Another gunshot echoed as a security camera exploded behind the tellers. Another one was shot and disintegrated. I scrambled on the floor to where the other customers were already lying on the ground with their hands covering their heads. They were completely petrified. I glanced up sideways, still on my knees.

Big Brennan practically threw the security guard at me and pointed his gun at my face. "ON THE GROUND, BITCH!"

I got on the ground. I peeked at the other customers, all in states of shock and panic.

A few yards away, Rick, wearing a baseball cap over his face stocking, pushed Mr. Hutton across the bank towards the Jason.

"You the manager?!" Jason demanded.

Mr. Hutton glared at him, very calm under the circumstances.

Then Jason repeated himself. "I said ARE YOU THE MANAGER?!"

Mr. Hutton answered defiantly, "Yes." I had to admire Mr. Hutton's pluck while being held up. I doubted this had happened before in this sleepy town.

Jason stuck his gun into Mr. Hutton's neck. "Good. Now open the money cage before people start getting killed."

Big Brennan looked at me again. "Don't look at me! Look at the floor!" He yelled.

I laid on the floor, petrified, my hands over my head.

The guys were doing their jobs well, too well.

Jason, was clearly leader of the group and the talker. He had his gun pointed at Mr. Hutton's head. "Give me the key, now. I'm tired of asking nice. Give me the money cage key, now."

"You're just going to kill me, anyway, why would I give you. . ." Mr. Hutton responded but was hit so hard in the clavicle by Jason's gun butt he was cut off and fell. My eyes narrowed at that.

Nobody was supposed to be hurt. It was supposed to be clean, in and out, no innocent people getting injured or killed. I warned the three morons it would tack on more charges. We had a time limit to finish and exit.

"You think we're in a conversation, here, huh?" Jason snarled at him.

Big Brennan yelled at the customers and employees. They were stirring and frightened because of what just happened. "Everybody be cool! You want to go home?! Don't look at me, look at the floor! Be calm, stay down!"

The Jason leaned down to talk into Mark Hutton's ear. "Listen to me, I am not going to ask you again. I want that key!"

"I can take him." A large man in a baseball hat was on the floor next to me. I think he was a trucker. He was eyeing the robbers.

"What?" I was incredulous. "Don't! You'll get yourself killed." I whispered in warning. I didn't want him to get hurt.

All three men were armed and at least two were twitchy. Jason's friends were nervous as hell. The only one with marginal self-control was Jason and he was already going way off script.

"The tall guy, he's not watching us. It's now or never. Keep your head down." He whispered. I stayed flat on the floor, wishing I could stop him.

The big man in the ball cap tackled Big Brennan and the gun skidded and slid towards me.

The truck driver yelled at me. "Pick it up, pick it up! Shoot him! Shoot him! What's wrong with you? Shoot the gun! Turn off the safety!" I was slow to pick up the gun and stood. I shook and pointed the gun at Jason and tried to fire but the safety was still on. Jason walked over quickly.

"Give me that gun." He demanded.

"Other side, turn it off!" yelled the man in the hat.

"I don't know how to use a gun!" I called back nervously. I couldn't break character and botch the job. I was so close to getting into that deposit box. I held it, pointing at the Jason with both hands trembling.

The man who tackled the Big Brennan was knocked out by him and Rick. Jason grabbed the gun from me, as I was expecting him to.

He grabbed me by the neck. "Okay, little hero . . ." He said menacingly. I looked into his eyes, afraid.

I cried out. "No, please don't!" I knew I had to play my part but he was still unpredictable.

"Shut up!" He yelled at me. "Let's you and me go talk, huh?" He dragged me into a private room by the back of my neck, me stumbling along. Mr. Hutton protested.

Jason slammed the door behind us. I leaned against a desk with my back then turned around. I sat on the desk casually and smiled, dimpling, hiding any nervousness.

Jason, took his mask off. "I don't know how to use a gun? That's classic." He said as he approached me.

I laughed softly. "Yeah." He strode over and kissed me passionately.

* * *

Several minutes went by. It was quiet outside of the door except the occasional outburst from Big Brennan or Rick.

Jason has his arms around me, then walked by the door to listen. "Hell, yeah! By now their imaginations are running wild!" He was amped up on adrenaline.

We had already agreed he would need to rough me up and hit me in the face.

"Don't hold back. He won't talk if the details are off." I was referring to Mr. Hutton. He and I already had a little rapport.

Jason grinned at me with a devilish smile. "You and your details, Maggie." He hit me hard, backhanding me with his right hand, then his left a few times. I told him to do it again to make sure I was bleeding. He did, enough to split my bottom lip.

Jason brought me out form the back with the red marks on my face, wiping blood from my mouth.

"Okay, hero." Jason said, shoving me into the room, making me stumble.

"No, please don't. I've got . . ."

Jason shoved me to the floor at the feet of Mr. Hutton. "Shut up!"

Rick yelled at the employees and customers again. They were exclaiming and upset after they saw me and my blood dripping on the floor. "Everybody just relax! I said quiet!"

Jason held a gun on me this time. Mr. Hutton looked down at me, his face full of worry. "Okay, Mr. Manager, you want to be a hard-ass? Protect a vault that doesn't even belong to you?" I shook my head to say no to Mr. Hutton. "Okay? There's going to be consequences." Jason threatened.

"Don't! He's going to kill me anyway." I told Mr. Hutton. I was on my back, trying to sit up.

Jason grabbed my shoulder roughly and held a gun to my neck while talking to me, then the manager. "I said . . . if you don't shut up. . .! You've got 3 seconds to give me that damn key. 1, 2," He cocked his gun. "3."

"Alright, I'll give it to you." Mr. Hutton relented.

"Good. Let's go, right around here. Let's go." Jason grabbed me by the neck and dragged me along with the gun to my head as Mr. Hutton took us to the vault.

* * *

Jason was getting impatient. "What the hell you waiting for? Open the damn thing." Mr. Hutton had been using the keys to open the vault, then spin the wheel to unlock it. He then had to open the money cage inside, which resembled a jail cell. Stacks of cash sat on a table. "Well, now we're talking. Don't move." He ordered Mr. Hutton and me.

"Please, don't. I can't. . ." I pleaded with Jason.

"Shut up!" He said again, shoving me against the bars by the cage door. The three men began to grab cash, pocketing and stashing it everywhere they could.

Mr. Hutton looked at me. He wanted to save me. "I let you in, now please, let the girl go."

"Let the girl go?" Jason said sarcastically. "Man, you have no idea, do you? The girl is the one who set you up. The girl picked this bank, picked this vault. This whole thing is the girl's idea." Jason took his mask off.

At that moment, I wanted to kill him. He wasn't supposed to give me up or take off the mask. He just blew his cover and mine.

"What are you doing?" I asked him, shaking my head. He had lost his mind with power.

Jason pointed his gun at Mr. Hutton's head. "Easy, Maggie. I'm just cleaning up after myself." In a split second I knew what he was going to do. He was planning on killing Mr. Hutton. There was no way in hell I was going to let that innocent man die because of me.

I grabbed the gun from Big Brennan, who hovered near me, and pointed it at Jason's head. "You shoot, I shoot."

Mr. Hutton stood, his back against the wall of safe deposit boxes. His voice quivered in fear. "Please, what's. . ."

I felt cold steel run through my veins. "I said, no one gets hurt." I started Jason down, ready to pull the trigger.

Jason looked at me as if he knew me. "I know you're cold, baby. But you're not that cold."

He had no idea fucking what I'd do to protect someone. He was stupid to underestimate me

Jason cocked his gun. I shot him in the knee so he couldn't walk. His gun fell in my direction.

I grabbed it and shot Brennan then Rick one after the other by crossing my right and left hands. I was ambidextrous. Dad trained me well years ago. They all laying on the floor bleeding and making noises.

Jason was on his back moaning. "You shot me, stupid bitch!"

"Shut up, Jason!" I snapped at him.

"I told you not to trust her." Brennan said as he rolled on the floor in pain.

I quickly turned to Mr. Hutton. I had to be quick. "I need the key to safety deposit box 815, now!" I put all three guns on the table so he wouldn't feel threatened.

"Who are you?" Mr. Hutton looked confused.

"The key to the box, now!" I insisted urgently. I didn't yell at him. I just needed him to move.

"You need 2 keys. The bank's, and . . ." He started to explain. I held up the customer key, courtesy of Simon. "If you had the customer key, why would you need. . ."

"I'm not on the signatory card." I explained. I could feel the seconds ticking away.

"You put me up to this to get into a safe deposit box? I swear to god, you better kill me, Maggie. Because if you don't. . ."

"My name's not Maggie." I cut him off. I reached back and pulled the cage door shut to lock the three idiots in.

"Now, go!" Mr. Hutton saw the men were secured and ran and returned with the key. I just hoped he didn't call authorities.

He came back in less than a minute and put the key in. He whispered for me to hurry. I nodded and put my key in, then opened it. Inside was a teal envelope with something small in it. It was the perfect size for the DC-3.

I peeked inside the envelope, then ran out and grabbed my I.D. and purse from Mr. Hutton's desk. He stood there as if he was waiting. I gave him a remorseful look, then took off. He had the phone in his hands, watching me.

When I was exiting the front door, I saw him start to dial for the police. He had waited for me to escape first. The man owed me nothing but let me go. I felt a little choked up.

My solo get-away was pre-planned. By the time I was well outside of Ruidoso, the cops were probably putting cuffs on the three morons back at the bank while the EMT's were checking on their knees.

Hopefully that would put them out of commission for a while.


	3. Chapter 3: Kevin Callis

_A/N: Thank you Guests, M, and vinzgirl for your reviews! I read them all and appreciate it. Yep! Kate is a bad-ass. She's had a tough life and had a hard shell on. Under that she had a good and sensitive heart. Her tears in canon didn't denote weakness. She was strong and still capable of doing those things that would make people say, "Damn!" She's still got that fire in her belly to protect and defend. It's just under the hood during her journey except choice moments in later seasons. The writers' focus were on other characters, male to be specific._

 **"Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it." ― J.K. Rowling**

The DC-3 was my most prized possession. Despite that, I kept it hidden away. I only took it out to make sure I had it or when I needed something physical to touch to remember something good in my life.

I didn't want to lose myself. My life was a blur of running, hiding, aliases. That little toy was a connection to my roots and proof that I did have days where I smiled and hopes for the future.

Tommy planted those seeds of hope. Some were buried so deep they might never see the light of day. Others shriveled up and died along the way from lack of nourishment and care.

I traveled the country finding places to stay, work and hide with my fake names and altered looks.

I was living in Miami, Florida. My hair was shorter, lightened up a few shades, and straightened with a slight flip. I even wore bangs. I hated changing my hair again, but it was the style. Women even wore thick hairbands to hold their hair back. It wasn't my favorite "look." It was during a retro trend reminiscent of the 1960's. I had to blend in and make sure nobody would recognize me. My long, auburn-brown tresses had to be disguised to do that.

I felt odd wearing skirts and sundresses all the time when I wasn't on the beach. I was used to blue jeans and t-shirts, mostly to hide my body when I was growing up, but I was a chameleon and wore tropical, colorful girly clothes with ease on my petite, fit body.

It was warm and sunny there. People wore a lot less than that in Miami including thong bathing suits when they roller-bladed or walked around on the beach or sidewalk, male or female.

I reached out into the underground here first inquiring about fake i.d.s but really was after money or some kind of job to keep me off of the radar. I was referred to a place that didn't do background checks because of illegals in the town.

I ended up with a low-profile job in the stock room of a distributor. Nobody exchanged information or talked there. The other people kept to themselves, probably to avoid deportation. It was an early morning job starting at 4 a.m. and I was done by 1 p.m. including lunch break. It paid the bills and was temporary.

I jogged on the beach on weekends and in the evening a few times a week. It was time to think and purge my soul.

I ran to get things out of my system including the pain, the self-hate and rejection.

I ran to remember. I had no mother to speak of. My Dad was ashamed of me. I had no home, no friends and nobody to talk to about my past. I was unmoored.

I ran to forget. Tommy was dead.

I ran to find myself.

All I had were memories and those were wrapped around two men. One was my Dad, who was overseas, someone I couldn't speak to again and loved so much. He was ashamed of me and I ran. I severed ties to spare him humiliation but it was mostly because of how I felt. I let him down. The other man, the one who knew me best was six feet under the ground.

I blame myself for the losing both of them.

So, who the hell am I? I was so disconnected from anyone that I knew or that knew me. I was struggling to connect with myself and losing touch with my real identity, Kate Austen.

One thing I discovered in my running was I didn't want to be alone. I figured it out observing couples and families, things I wanted before my dreams died when I was stuck in Ames and Tommy left for college. I found I wasn't wired to be a loner but had no way to fix it.

I was a woman with no family but aching for one and not just parents. I also was struck with the reality of my situation.

Who would in the world would want someone like me after what I did? Even if I didn't do anything, why would they want someone with such a shameful childhood and past? I was damaged goods and couldn't even use my real name.

For now, I was Monica. Monica is the Patron Saint of difficult marriages and disappointing children. I should have paid more attention to who's name I was invoking with my false identity at the time.

Sure, men approached me frequently, but my heart screamed at them to run away.

They would hate me if they knew, or turn me in.

I felt unwanted and undesirable.

Kevin Callis changed that.

* * *

I am not big on drinking alcohol. I'm not opposed to it but like to keep my senses sharp in case I need to grab and go. I sat on a stool at the very end of an open, local bar and sipped on my soda, soaking in the last rays of sunshine before evening came. I liked to people watch to take the edge off of my solitude. I usually made tracks and went back to my small apartment before happy hour was in full swing.

Kevin came in with some guys, all dressed casually in shirts and shorts. I turned away slightly after unintentionally making eye contact. He was handsome in a clean, wholesome way. I sighed. I didn't want to go through the same song and dance rebuffing him and other men that night.

As predicted, he made his way over and introduced himself trying to make small talk. He wasn't a jerk or laying lines on me like some guys. He was genuine and nice. I was calm and pleasant, even coy. He reminded me of Tommy except he had light brown hair with touches of gold from the sun. It wasn't just with the way he looked, but his personality. I felt calm and at home talking to him.

Despite that, I didn't give him my phone number. I said I couldn't. He asked if I was married and I said no. I was honest and said sorry but I didn't know him. I didn't want to tell him I'd call when I wasn't sure. I had to be careful as a woman in a town of transients. He said he was local but understood. He walked back to his friends with a smile and subtle look of regret.

I kept running into him. He wasn't stalking me. I had two favorite haunts and they were within walking distance of each other. Apparently, he did too. Eventually we exchanged names and started talking. Things really snowballed from there.

I found out at some point he was a policeman. I should have cut things off at that point but was already drawn to his kindness and how fondly he talked about his family including his Mom and his brother. They were good and wholesome, real salt of the earth type of people.

Kevin and his brother still went to church with their mother every Sunday. His father passed years ago. I had already met his younger brother. He was cut from the same cloth. He was also kind, honorable and a gentleman but more of a teaser in a fun way. Both were well-raised and hard-working. Kevin rarely drank except the occasional beer and I never heard him curse.

My loneliness and need for companionship made me vulnerable. That sweet man won my heart. I wasn't faking it. It felt right. My name and scant background information were false, but I wasn't being emotionally fake. I thought maybe there was a way to make this work. I was delusional and making decisions based on my emptiness and need, not my head.

Meeting his mother, Suzanne, sealed the deal for me. She was the mom I always envisioned having. She embraced me when we first met, having heard so much about me. Suzanne's hug, the maternal touch on my skin, it was powerful thing. I don't have the words to explain it exactly. It made my eyes well up with tears, something I avoided. I soaked up her affection and attention like a dry sponge.

* * *

It was a whirlwind romance. My empty heart and life was drawn in so fast that I was Monica Callis within two months and a full-time housewife in a lovely little home. It was the white picket fence dream come true. I genuinely loved Kevin.

He was smitten and everything a woman could want in a quality man. He doted on me, bringing me flowers and did little things just to make me smile. The chemistry was good between us too. I enjoyed being his "wife" even though it was under an alias. Our marriage wasn't legal thanks to me being an idiot.

I hated that I had to lie about myself and identity. I kept my background information to a minimum including my parents being dead and having no family.

The problem with lies is that they are hard to remember and people change their stories over time. Mine were simple and cops are trained as lie detectors. If I was pressed for more information, I had effective ways of either distracting him or turning the tables and asking him questions instead.

My past was painful and I didn't hide that so he didn't push me, maybe thinking I was in mourning still. I was in my own way. He hated to see me sad.

I still had the DC-3. I didn't hide it. I didn't feel the need to squirrel it away. I had it in my bra and panty drawer. I found that the need to take out and examine it, to ground me with memories from my real life, was quelled in the honeymoon stage as I soaked up the love and warmth of having a family.

I took the toy out on occasion, remembering, then would put it back and resume my life as Monica Callis. Kevin reminded me of Tommy still. He helped me to forget about what happened sometimes, but that didn't mean my feelings and memories about my friend and rueful past were gone.

Kevin came across it one day. He was getting undergarments for me since I was in a rush to get ready for us to meet with another couple. I was in the bathroom getting ready. He asked me about the DC-3. I told him it was special, the only toy I had from when I was a kid. I didn't say much else. I didn't need to. He flashed me one of his charming smiles and tucked it right back in the drawer where he found it before embracing me gently.

* * *

At a few months rolled by, I called Edward Mars. I asked him to please stop chasing me. I hadn't called him for a long time, even skipped Holy Days but it was the Feast of the Ascension. Edward said me missed me. It was weird because I believe he did in his own twisted way. He guessed quickly I was in love and asked what his name was as if we were having "girl chat."

Edward said he'd stop chasing me if I'd stop running, but he and I knew that wasn't going to happen. I hung up on him. I couldn't say if he was right or not in that moment but my marrying a police officer was dangerous.

I ended up leaving Kevin after four months of marriage, most of which was like a dream, a blissful one I didn't want to wake from. I made him breakfast before work and had dinner ready for him when he returned. I hosted "Taco Tuesday" night for him and the other guys on the force to have beers and eat while hanging out when it was our turn in the rotation. I was pampered, loved and adored by him and his family.

What changed? A few things happened that woke me up and made me dust off my running shoes.

First of all, I thought I was pregnant. Kevin wanted us to have a baby and not wait. I was 26 and he was 32 years old. We weren't using protection. I had qualms about birth control pills at the time for personal reasons. I was unsure, caught between the illusion of being married and safe to go ahead. I was in denial that I was a fugitive. I tried to forget and push it away like it didn't exist, but in the back of my mind, I knew it was a bad idea.

I was watching the calendar carefully to try and avoid mid-cycle sex when I was most likely to conceive. Truthfully, it was impossible to put on the brakes when he'd pick me up in his big, strong arms and carry me to the bedroom to make love to me, especially when he came home in that uniform. He not only worshiped me but my body. He'd sweep me off my feet, making me giggle and forget everything except his kisses and loving embrace.

I was at least 3 days late. I had regular cycles and usually started my period well before day 28. It was past that. I started to panic. It felt like a brick wall was falling down on me. I wasn't ready to be a mother. What if I had to run? I couldn't leave my baby behind but I couldn't bring it. How could I hide with a baby?

If Kevin found out my identity and I went to jail, I would never see it. I doubted he would forgive me for my deception and it would tear at the shreds of my tattered heart and soul. I couldn't have a baby but abortion wasn't an option for me. I didn't have the heart for it.

I took a test and was relieved to find out I wasn't but sobbed anyhow. I wished things were different. I wanted to see the Kevin's eyes light up with joy and for him to pick me up and swing me around with the good news. I wanted his mother to celebrate and be happy a grandchild was on the way. I did want to be a mother someday, but I figured it would never happen.

I couldn't inflict my life and any future punishment on an innocent soul. That baby would grow to be ashamed of me. It was bad enough being rejected by adults, but to carry a baby, give birth and have it grow up to hate me was unfathomable. I couldn't do it. If I got caught, I was going to jail and they would throw away the keys.

The second reason was Kevin's thoughtful gift of two Oceanic tickets. He wanted to take me on a belated honeymoon to Costa Rica. I couldn't do it. What if my passport didn't clear? I hadn't been out of country yet with my fake passports. They were hidden away where he'd never find them.

The third reason was Kevin's promotion. I should have been happy about it. On the outside I was, but internally, it was a nail in the coffin and set things in motion for me to leave. He was assigned to be a part of the fugitive recovery task team.

It was a matter of time before he came across my information. Edward Mars did his best to keep my case fresh. I don't know how far down the pile my file was in the national database but wanted to spare Kevin the humiliation of finding it or having his colleagues bringing it to his attention.

Reality started to settle in, washing away the dream life I lived.

I began to loathe things like Taco Tuesday and became more paranoid when going out, even for groceries.

* * *

I am once again ashamed of what I did. Kevin didn't deserve this or any of what I did, especially marrying him. I resorted to drugging Kevin with a few sleeping pills. I left an apology note for him exonerating him from any wrongdoing.

I gave him a tearful confession that I was a fugitive after he drank the crushed pills and was losing consciousness.

Kevin had no idea I was eluding the law. He didn't deserve to lose his job or get in trouble because of my duplicity. Was I fake the whole marriage? No. He brought out the better parts of me, a light-hearted, loving side of me that was new.

I told in the letter that I loved him and it was all my fault.

I also left the precious gold locket; the heirloom Suzanne gave me. She was saving it for the daughter she never had. It was the most heartfelt gift I have ever received. She gave it to me on our wedding day.

It hurt to it give up, but I was an unwanted daughter. She would have never wanted me if she knew. Why should a wonderful mother like Suzanne waste her love and tokens of affection on me?

I left the locket in his hand.

* * *

I grabbed a bag and stuffed it with clothes, the DC-3, money, fake identities, and remorsefully the Oceanic tickets, and took off. I needed those tickets to exchange for an international flight.

I took off and left the country, trading in the Oceanic tickets I bought for a 1 way to Sydney, Australia. I ended up living outside of Sydney for 3 months with Ray Mullen. My name was Annie.

He had a remote farm with livestock, crops and little contact with the outside world. I worked for him doing household chores and gardening his deceased wife's plot, cultivating food for the table and to preserve for him later. Ray was good to me and paid me a fair wage. He didn't bother me or my stuff.

The DC-3 stayed in the rucksack. My false identities were hidden under a false bottom in my rucksack.

I took out the plane in the moonlight sometimes when Ray was asleep, trying to remember. My real name was Kate. I had a best friend named Tommy. He loved me.

I would run my fingers over the back of the plane and wings and hold it up, thinking of climbing trees with him, playing in the stall that got filled with fresh sawdust to spread out eventually into the other stalls. We waded in the creek barefoot to catch tiny fish with those tiny nets made for goldfish and put them in an old large jar his mom formerly used to make sun tea. We either released them or used them for bait later.

We caught crawdads but always let them go. It was more for fun along with becoming a muddy mess. After our escapades, we took turns drinking out of his water hose and spraying off each other's feet so we didn't get yelled at later for tracking in mud. All those things and more came flooding back.

The memories were there. I couldn't capture them in the daylight as Annie, but the wings of the little DC-3 carried them back at night.

It helped ground me a little and remind me who I was. It kept me sane.

* * *

I stayed too long at Ray's farm. I got too comfortable. That's dangerous for a fugitive. Ray reported me but waited a few days after seeing the wanted sign in the post office. The offer was $23,000. He owed a lot of money on his farmstead.

He always told me he had a "helluva mortgage." He was struggling to survive and had taken out a second loan to plant orchards and higher paying crops. Once they began to yield the volume he needed it would help him stay afloat financially. I grew up around farms. I understood. That's one reason why I didn't blame him, despite feeling deeply betrayed.

I blamed Marshal Edward Mars, who was in Australia. I had an strong inkling he was there on his own dime to redeem himself. My instincts were usually right. He took way too much pleasure in pursuing me and based on Simon's information in Des Moines, was low on the totem pole in his office. He was also traveling alone.

Ray was driving me, my rucksack with all my possessions including the DC-3 to the train station. It was a set-up. I knew it when Ray checked the rearview mirror more than once and offered to pull over for a "mean burger." I was a vegetarian.

I caught site of the black SUV with Mars inside. When he was pulling alongside of us, I took the wheel and pulled the emergency brake lightning fast to slam into Edward's SUV and smash his engine. I was hoping to disable Mars' vehicle. It didn't work.

Ray and I ended up going into a ravine and flipping several times. I was miraculously unscathed. I got out and ran like hell with my stuff but stopped went back to save him. The truck was on fire and he was out cold. I couldn't abandon Ray. He offered me shelter, food and a job when I trespassed. He was kind to me. I will never forget that.

My Dad taught he never left a single man behind in the field as a soldier. I hadn't talked to Dad in years but I was still his daughter. I pulled Ray up the ravine to safety next to the road, even though he was twice my weight. I ended up with a cocked gun at my head.

Marshal Edward Mars, the bane of my existence, had caught me again.

* * *

I was at the airport with Edward the next day

He was a pain in the ass after catching me. He gloated and basically had diarrhea of the mouth. I had nothing to say to him.

All I cared about at that moment was that Ray was okay. Edward did the right thing and waited until the EMT's arrived. I had already seen him grab my rucksack and put it in the back of his car so the DC-3 was safely stowed.

I was checked into a women's correctional facility in Sydney the night before our flight to LA. The women there were surprisingly nice and curious about me, being an American. They had a lot of questions. I didn't have many answers, but they talked enough to fill the void.

The inmates thought I was a college kid that got nabbed. I know I looked younger than my age. I got to clean up and dress but my DC-3 was missing from my rucksack. I had no doubt who had it.

* * *

Edward came for the next morning to make our flight. He had me cuffed with my hands in the front and chains between my wrists. At least I was dressed nicely, clean and the women did my hair and some makeup. I let them.

They treated me like I was a little doll. I felt empty inside. As long as the touch wasn't sexual, they could play with my curls and tame them all they wanted. I think they were either bored or felt sorry for me.

I was taken through back entrances with Sydney Airport Security with Mars to the security manager. Edward had a Halliburton case that they wanted to examine along with my information to confirm both of our information.

The manager was skeptical of Mars and what he was taking with him once the case was unlocked. Edward had a knack of rubbing everyone the wrong way and decided to put on a dramatic show justifying the contents of the case.

Once it was open, the Sydney Airport security manager asked, "You going to be armed?" He looked at Edward with an odd look. I avoided looking at Edward. He was like a bad stench.

I just wanted Edward to dissipate and go away with his fake "Godfather" accent. I bet he watched it on re-run at home pretending he was Sonny Corleone, the Godfather's son that was gunned down due to his violent temper and impulsiveness. He even looked like him minus the curled hair.

The security manager was examining the contents of the case. "You going to be armed?"

Edward confirmed it. "Yes, sir, ankle holster."

The manager frowned at him, looking at the load Edward was bringing. "You have to stow this in the crew luggage compartment in the front."

Edward agreed. "No problem-o." I sat stone-face but was annoyed by the sound of his voice. I was silent, upset and barely hiding it.

The security manager leaned forward, still frowning at Edward. "Why do you need 5 guns?"

Edward looked down at me. I was sitting in a chair facing the security manager while he paced and circled me, almost unable to contain his energy and underlying excitement at capturing the ultimate prize, me. "Gee, you want to tell him, Kate? Why do I need 5 guns?" I ignored him the best I could but felt a surge of anger. I brushed the back of my fingernails together and looked away from him. "She's shy." He said directly to the manager. It was a lame joke only he appreciated. I could hear the slight amusement in his voice.

The manager pulled out the DC-3 from the case, looking at Edward. "What's this, then?"

Edward gave me a look and I could tell he was ready to give a loquacious explanation. He loved hearing himself talk. "That's a good story, you want to tell it, huh, Kate?" He talked loudly when he leaned back to look at me, his hands in his suit pants, acting like I was deaf. He rocked back and forth from his toes to his heels when he paused. I glanced up and gave him an f-you look.

Edward walked over and picked up my plane. He started slowly pacing around me and stuck it under my nose, saying hurtful words. I steeled myself, trying not to react but my eyes were riveted on the plane. "This belonged to her childhood sweetheart who she got killed a couple of years ago when she was on the run. Poor guy. . . a wife, a 2-year-old kid. What was his name, Kate?" He spoke loudly again like I was hard of hearing. He paced to my right side with the plane. He paused as if he was really expecting an answer. I looked down and away.

Edward was getting wound up with his dramatic recall of events, his version, and working hard to get a reaction out of me. I fought for self-control the best I could but was slowly losing.

I looked away from him as he paced around, holding it close to my eye level so I'd see him playing with it, toying with me at the same time with words and my DC-3. The problem was that I couldn't take my eyes off the plane when it was in sight. Edward was touching my most treasured possession, Tommy's DC-3. To me, it was sacrilege.

He looked down at me angrily and spat out his next words. He stood behind me, brushing against my back with the lower half of his body. He knew the personal contact would repulse and escalate me. "Well, somewhere along the way during the 3 years that I was chasing her, she starts calling me, my cell, at my house, and 'whining' on about her 'mitigating circumstances.' But what she's really doing is taunting me." He paused, reached over and flew the airplane in front of my face, inches away. I looked at it with anger and longing. He couldn't see my face from behind and I was using my hair as a curtain. _You were taunting me, Edward, you bastard. You hid it. You asked me sex questions about me and Tommy. You were the one playing games._ I thought.

He continued his diatribe, angrily going on and strolled around to face at me. He had my DC-3 and started pointing at me harshly. "So, I tell her that I've got what's-his-name's little toy airplane in a safe deposit box in New Mexico." He looked down at me, narrowing his eyes.

"So, she somehow figures out which bank, which safe deposit box. She seduces some idiot to rob the damn bank, and then she puts a bullet in her new friend because she's done using him." I watched through veiled eyes then looked away. _I shot three men in the knee to save an innocent man,_ I thought.

Edward continued on for the silent manager's benefit. I glanced at him only once and he looked puzzled at the long explanation. "But she leaves all the money. She just takes the plane because that's the one thing in the whole world that Kate does care about." I bit my tongue. _I cared enough to keep Mark Hutton safe. I cared about Tommy. I cared about my Mom, my Dad, Ray and Kevin._ My brain responded automatically but the words never left my mouth.

He paused looking at and judging me in a sotto voice. My heart was aching by then at the thought of Tommy and Edward's shallow description of events and my character. I didn't like myself but I resented his inaccurate tale. He made up a story about who I was based on what? A few interactions and staring at my mugshot while in his little cubicle?

Edward strutted around like a prosecutor presenting his case to the security manager. Silent, angry tears fell down my cheeks.

He faced me, reveling in my tears. "She has no attachments, and I think she's telling herself she needs it to atone for killing her boyfriend, what's-his-name." He rolled his eyes, close to my face. "God, Kate, c'mon, what was his name?" He loudly asked.

I snapped. My brain and body disconnected. His touching me and the DC-3, his one-sided recall of events and not saying Tommy's name pushed me over the edge beyond hate or reason.

I leapt from the chair and grabbed the chains between my wrists. I used them to pin his neck against the door. I then kicked the back of his knees causing them buckle while the chain held him up and smashed his face against the door glass.

"Tom! It's Tom, you son-of-a-bitch!" I yelled.

Edward regained his feet quickly elbowed me in the face, knocking me to the ground. The DC-3 was within reach, but he kicked it away towards the security manager. He picked me up easily, like I was the toy.

I struggled to get out of his grip. He dropped me back in the chair.

I had played right into his hands but was thin-skinned from being betrayed and hating myself for not moving on sooner.

I temporarily had no protective shell or walls to hide my feelings and was in handcuffs, something I despised.

Edward knew and reveled in it.

"And that is why I need 5 guns." He turned the security manager, with self-satisfaction, a small smile simmering at the corner of his lips.

* * *

True to his word to the security manager, Edward had the case stowed on the plane. My DC-3 was locked away somewhere out of touch and reach. I hated him. It was likely I would never see it again except as a exhibit in court.

We were in first through a back entrance away from the public. I was secured in a middle seat with my cuffs and Edward sat next to me, all puffed up. The key to his Halliburton case was in his wallet. I saw him put it there and stick it in his jacket pocket.

I was thinking it would be the longest flight of my life. I could have never predicted what would happen next.

The airplane engines failed several hours into the flight and we began to plummet.

Edward was knocked out cold when an overhead case nailed him in the head.

I got his keys to my cuffs and unlocked myself to put oxygen masks on my face and his.

The tail section broke off.

The front section broke off shortly afterwards.

* * *

I survived. 46 other people from the mid-section did too. Edward survived only a few days but didn't give up my information to Jack, who didn't know I was a fugitive for days. We started building rapport from the beginning when I sewed him up, a neurosurgeon who needed stitches.

Jack ended up euthanizing him, but he didn't want to. Edward was suffering and dying and asked me to do it. The whole camp was distressed after days of hearing him moan and cry out in pain. I couldn't do it.

Sawyer suggested shooting him and attempted to but botched the job.

Edward was buried with the key in his wallet in an undisclosed location by Jack in the dead of night.

The DC-3 was gone, at the bottom of the ocean for all I knew. All I had was me. I had nothing, owned nothing except the clothes on my body. I was in survival mode in the beginning and wrapped up in helping wherever I could including with efforts to signal for help.

Fear of the monster in the jungle, interacting with people as a group for the first time and working on a rescue plan with Sayid pushed the DC-3 to the recesses of my mind temporarily.

Then I came across the case two weeks later in a lagoon.

Once I saw it, I had to have the DC-3 again at any cost

Getting it back presented more challenges for me this time because of two men. One man I was falling for, Jack. He could be harsh when demanding details and information I couldn't provide.

The other man was a hoarding con-man named Sawyer who couldn't resist hitting on me sexually and playing games.

I didn't realize the price I would pay to get the DC-3 back would be more painful, striking me at core of my being.


	4. Chapter 4: Case Chase

_A/N: Thank you for taking the time to write reviews vinzgirl, M, and guests! Here is the next chapter . . ._

 **"If desperate times call for desperate measures, then I'm free to act as desperately as I wish."** ― **Suzanne Collins**

I had been in the island for a few weeks now. The struggle to survive and help our group survive, even with basics like food, water and shelter, had consumed me. It didn't include the dangers surrounding us in the jungle including other human inhabitants. Nor did it include attempts to send out a rescue signal.

The case was pushed to the recesses of my mind. I had to use every faculty and some of the skills I had honed with Dad's guidance since I was a child. It was for the benefit of everyone else. I felt wanted and useful. I was accepted. I felt liked and was a part of something, the small group making decisions in everyone's best interest. It didn't make me like myself any better, but at least I added value. I was willing to do whatever I needed to help provide for and protect our people.

It was another hot, tropical day of gathering fruit. The morning hours had gone by quickly. It was a lot of work to feed over 40 people. I was drenched in sweat, my legs skillfully gripping the trunk of the tree I straddling. It gave me a solid grip to free up my hands and balance to cut. My target was papaya.

I was about 20 feet in the air and deep in the jungle. I gathered a cluster of 150 bananas. It was early morning and I was adding papaya to the pile accruing at camp. My cross-body bag was small to avoid overloading my small, light frame at precarious heights. I collected a dozen and a half so far. They were crammed in my bag with my water.

I was tired and thirsty. It wasn't just the climb. It was the oppressive heat and humidity. It literally sucked the water out of my body as it tried to cool itself down, soaked my skin and clothes then refused to dry. My hair was wet and auburn brown ringlets hung down escaping my hair elastic. I had to push them off of my damp face to see what I was doing.

I shimmied down the trunk and hopped onto the ground after cutting the last of ripe fruit. Some remained and would be prime for picking in about a week. It felt like I lost a gallon of water through perspiration. I pulled my bottled water out to drink to stay hydrated. It was hotter than hell during the day with no abatement, breeze or rain to cool me off in the jungle. Sure, there was plenty of rain when we were running for our lives from the monster or chasing someone, but now, nothing but blazing blue skies sending sunlight through the tree like yellow laser beams.

Things were tense back at camp. Claire had been abducted. People had moved from the caves back to the beach. Nobody had any idea where she was. Even Locke said he couldn't find any residua traill after the rain. I couldn't either. She disappeared without a trace, taken by a man planted in among the survivors.

His name was Ethan Rom. He was tall, strong and dangerous. He managed to knock Jack out. Jack's a strapping 6'2" man, muscular and broad shouldered. He can pack a punch. I was beyond frightened when I stumbled across Jack at the bottom of a creek bed. He was unconscious. I thought he was dead.

Jack ran ahead of me when we went after Ethan to get Claire. He didn't wait for me to track. Locke was following another trail with Boone, a false one. Jack met up with Ethan alone. Ethan warned him he "would kill one of them" unless we stopped pursuing him. Jack didn't tell me. He kept going after the kidnapper. Ethan nabbed Charlie the same time as Claire. Charlie cleverly dropped his finger bandages with letters on them to provide a trail for us.

Jack was determined to get both back. We all were. After the warning was given, we stumbled across Charlie hanging from a tree. He had a mass of small vines tied around his neck. It took more than one man to do it. It was a violent and horrible act against an innocent man.

Ethan meant what he said.

Charlie appeared to be dead. He was dead.

Jack was able to revive him after several attempts. I thought it was hopeless. I cried after several minutes and told Jack it's okay and to stop. He was doing CPR before he started to hit Charlie's sternum hard to get his heart going.

Jack stopped briefly but resumed with a fierce look of determination. He pounded Charlie's chest until he started coughing. We both cried and cradled Charlie after he came back to life.

Charlie looked like a zombie, traumatized and horribly bruised around his neck and under his eyes. He still wasn't talking and sat on the beach staring at nothing. He was in there somewhere buried under shock and guilt. He tried so hard to look out for Claire.

I kept hoping Claire was okay. I found no trace of her despite looking daily. Locke was right. The rain and mud erased any tracks or signs of where Ethan took her. Rousseau had warned Sayid weeks ago there were "Others" who stole her newborn 16 years ago.

We had no idea they would snatch one of our own people.

* * *

Claire was 24 years old and 8 months pregnant when we crashed. She was adorable - an easy going, friendly and petite blonde with wavy hair. She reminded me of a mermaid. Her piercing blue eyes lit up with humor and she was cheerful despite her condition and our overall situation. She was on her way to L.A. to have her baby and adopt it out to a couple. After the crash, she was concerned about being rescued, but occupying herself with helping with minor things like sorting useful clothes with me, writing in her little diary and resting in between.

I didn't envy her situation but enjoyed her company. She figured out I'm a Gemini but I didn't give her my information for a birth chart. I was a little worried what she would come up with, as if she would figure out I was a fugitive. In hindsight, it was stupid of me. I wasn't ready to share personal information.

I regretted not telling her. It was only a date. If it gave her pleasure I shouldn't have been so secretive. I wasn't used to having friends in the plural, much less girls as friends. They hated me in high school and I avoided female companionship for the most of my life with few exceptions. I grew to care about Claire and felt protective, especially when she was struggling with dehydration before Jack found the fresh water in the caves. Why didn't I let her do the damn birth chart?

Claire was having bad dreams and afraid someone was trying to hurt her during the nights leading up to the abduction. She woke everyone in the caves when screaming. Jack thought it was due to hormones from her third trimester of pregnancy. After her abduction, he felt guilty he didn't "take her seriously."

It was a mistake any doctor could have made, even an OB/GYN. We wouldn't have known about Ethan if Hurley hadn't come up with the idea to take down everyone's names. He's the one that took the census and compared the list to the flight manifest.

That's how Ethan Rom was exposed. We think he was sent to infiltrate and get information on us. We don't know why he snatched up my pregnant friend. It was hasty, sloppy, and done during the day in a rainstorm. The risk was too great to do it that way versus the night.

I wanted to continue to track deeper in the jungle to find her. Jack lost it when I suggested it. He was angry and definitively said no. He didn't want me to disappear or to find me strung up... He stopped there. We both got choked up when he said it. Normally I would do whatever I took a notion to, but Jack's concern kept me in check for once.

The way Ethan left Charlie, it made my heart stop. He was gone. Jack performed a miracle on him.

It was too dangerous and we still didn't know who we were dealing with.

* * *

Jack was busy with morning rounds and didn't know I went deep into the jungle. I didn't ask for permission. I just did what I had to or there would be hungry people at camp. Locke wasn't bringing boar. We were subsisting on fruit and fish.

I had my knife, a good sense of direction and could climb and hide in the canopy of leaves above. I was able to get a good view of the area when up in a tree. I didn't only rely on my eyes, but ears and senses. The animals, birds, bugs would all alert me by going silent if a predator was around. Humans were worst kind of predators. They kill for no reason and stole my friend.

The groves near the camp were bare. You know the saying about picking low hanging fruit? It's true and exactly what people did. It was fine and less work for me initially. I picked the tops of those trees and had to go deeper and deeper each day to find more.

I looked for any signs, tracks or traces of people passing through.

It was too deep for any of our people to be wandering around. I knew any tracks I came across would be from the Others.

* * *

I began to make my journey to the beach, listening to the jungle carefully. I had to be vigilant. The jungle was full of more than strange creatures. Now we had hostile humans to deal with.

A few weeks ago, I could have never guessed in a million years I would survive a crash and do things to help people. They depended on me and Jin.

I never fathomed I'd be interested in a man. I had trust issues. I felt tied to him since the first day. It was too early to tell what would happen, but he stirred up deep, dormant feelings inside of me. Everything about him drew me in; The way he smells, moves, looks, talks, his eyes, expressions, depth, sensitivity, even his sexy arms and mysterious tattoos. His entire being beckoned to me like a male siren call. It causing me to seek him out, sometimes against my will. I had been independent and alone for so long I found it to be foreign, yet enticing. I desired him and his presence, but struggled with who I was.

Jack came from a higher level of society than me. He's a doctor, leader and a good man.

Being with him makes me want to be a better person, but how could I do that?

I couldn't change who my parents were or where I came from.

I can't change my past.

If we didn't crash and I wasn't able to escape from Edward, I would have been locked up in Los Angeles in a Federal prison. Edward Mars would have kept my framed mugshot and the DC-3 on his desk as trophies celebrating his triumph of catching me, the fugitive who eluded him for 3 years. I am accused of things in a list he compiled and stacked on purpose to keep my case fresh. He was obsessed.

He was dead. I was free and not free. I was on a deserted island with 4 dozen castaways surrounded by deadly threats in the jungle with no sign of rescue.

The whole experience was turning me inside out. I cried and felt more in the past few weeks than I had in years. I hate crying but did it for different reasons; fear, sorrow, joy, fright and anger. My tears dried up years ago and I started to feel emotionally vulnerable on the island, like a turtle missing its shell. People don't know I was fugitive except for Jack and Hurley.

I liked most of my fellow castaways. I tolerated the rest. It was the first time I was able to say I have friends, using the plural form.

Prior, I only had one in my 27 years.

The case contained my most prized possession.

It belonged to him.

* * *

I left the grove and hit a wall of silence. There were no birds warbling, crickets, nothing. I hurried, trying to make my way back to camp with noiseless steps. Something or someone was there.

I heard it. A branch snapped.

I quickly took a knee and grabbed a softball-sized round lava rock. I swiveled like a short-stop and threw it exactly at where the sound was emanating. I hoped to delay whoever it was so I could sprint off. I was about to bolt when I heard a very familiar voice.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!" Sawyer, of all people, limped out of the foliage, rubbing his kneecap. He was in pain. He gave me a slightly annoyed look. I tried not to smile.

Why was he following me? I didn't ask for his company. If I wanted some, my first choice would be a 6'2" doctor with brown hair, eyes and a muscular shoulder bearing cryptic tattoos.

"What the hell do you think you're doin'?" He groused at me but wasn't angry.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He had no business being out this far.

"You busted my damn knee!" He complained but there was no venom behind it.

"You were stalking me!"

He limped behind me. "Not stalking. I was protectin' you."

I looked at him skeptically while he limped closer. He was the one in need of protection, at least from me.

"I don't need protecting." I turned, amused, but walked slowed down so he could keep up.

Sawyer's nicer side was starting to make appearances. It wasn't an overnight thing. I could do without selfish Sawyer. The whole camp could do without the jackass version of him. He was a pot-stirrer and did it on purpose to drive people away.

It was good to see he was human after all. It seemed like he was trying to do something nice without ulterior motives for once.

"What're you doing all the way out here anyway?" He still limped. I felt like he was exaggerating it for sympathy. But I knew I threw a wicked fast ball.

I didn't turn around, just called back over my shoulder. "It's the only place the trees aren't picked clean."

Sawyer chided me, something I found annoying. He wasn't my boss. "Yeah, well you shouldn't be out here alone. Not after what happened to..."

"I can take care of myself."

Sawyer began to mock me in a caveman voice, one that made me smile despite my best efforts to smother it. "'I don't need protecting. I can take care of myself. Me Kate. Me throw rock.'"

I shook my head. Unbelievable. I was glad I didn't have to listen him all day.

I heard something ahead, stopped, and motioned for him to be silent. It was a pleasant sound, one I hadn't heard for a while.

I was taking new route back to check for tracks. I heard water, fresh water running over rocks.

"What?" Sawyer whispered from behind me. "You smell blood in the wind?"

I gave him a look. Sawyer stopped and listened finally. There was a rushing sound sound and dull, continuous roar.

I crept towards it slowly, hoping it was what I suspected. He followed me closely. We quickly made it through the dense brush and stopped, staring at the glorious sight greeting us.

* * *

A wide, picturesque waterfall cascaded into an enormous pool of fresh, clear water. Sunlight danced and reflected off of the falls and ripples fanning out from the bottom of the cascade. It made me sigh.

For a woman whose life has been a series of bad events, one after another, the clear refreshing water at just the right time gave me a sliver of hope. Maybe I wasn't cursed?

I was overheated and needed to wash and cool off my body. I was looking at the cure.

I barely had time to take it in before Sawyer ran around me. He pulled his shirt off like a kid racing to dive into the local swimming hole.

"What are you doing?" I wanted to swim too but didn't want to give him any ideas. He almost lost his balance in his haste to take off his boots, his shirt already flung aside. To my relief, he left his denims on.

"What does it look like?" He flashed a happy smile at me. "I need to soak my sore knee. C'mon, Freckles! After all we've been through on this damn island, don't we deserve somethin' good?"

He saw my reluctance, even though I stood next to him and already set down my bag. "What? You going to say no? You some sort of navel-gazing, no-fun, mopey type?"

I needed to wash all the grime, sorrow and sweat of the past few days off, even just for a spell and could handle Sawyer. He seemed playful and hadn't said anything yet to make me uncomfortable.

He was already in the center of the swimming hole, treading and inviting me to come in. "C'mon girl! Race you to the top!" He called out, daring me. "Unless you ain't got the nerve."

That did it! I didn't need to take off much, just my shoes, socks and jeans. My remaining garments were as good as a one-piece bathing suit except the string bikini underwear. But nothing was hanging out. I got in quickly, testing the depth, and took off doing the breast stroke, racing for the rocks next to the falls. I temporarily left my worries behind at the shore.

We both made it to the rocks at the same time and climbed to the top of the falls. It wasn't too slippery. A lot of rocks were lava and porous, though smooth from the constant water flowing over them. He helped me carefully over a slippery spot and grinned like a kid as he climbed higher. "Ready, Freddy?" I felt like little kid again in that moment, horsing around with Tommy in the pond. I smiled and nodded. He counted off. "One, two, three!"

We both dropped into the refreshing, blue-green water. I jumped first and he dove afterwards. I swam higher than him. Bubbles were everywhere. He swam below me after his dive and surprised me by tickling my tummy while swimming facing up. I smiled, pushing and kicking him away easily.

We both swam underwater before stopping. We both were in shock, staring at something on the bottom.

A row of Flight 815 seats with occupants still belted into them appeared. They were bloated and monstrous looking. The seats were attached to a chunk of plane wreckage.

Despite the gruesome discovery, I spotted something shiny and rectangular. I knew what it was the moment I laid eyes on it. It was a Halliburton suitcase. It was _the_ suitcase and inside of it was my DC-3.

I instantly swam hard for the bottom to get it. After some tugging, I was able to loosen it. I could hear Sawyer above yelling my name with fear in his voice as I neared the surface. I exploded out of the water, lungs burning for air.

"You okay?" He asked, looking worried.

"Yeah." I struggled to stay above water, treading while holding the heavy Halliburton. I didn't expect it to weigh that much.

"What the hell you got there?" Sawyer couldn't see it but knew I was dragging something to the shore. I stood on the rocks, pulling the case with both hands.

I put it down to get back into my jeans and shoes. Sawyer was climbing out too and eyed me and the case with great curiosity.

"What?" He nodded towards the case I had dredged up from the bottom of the lagoon.

"Just tell me it's yours unless, of course, you don't want me to know it's yours." He was beyond inquisitive. He was being downright nosey.

My thoughts raced for a moment. I knew exactly what was in there down to the last item. It contained only one thing of mine, but how many people carry Halliburton cases on airplanes?

The U.S. president had one for nuclear codes. U.S. Marshals had them, people might use them to carry large amounts of cash or jewels. They have tight seals to protect contents from water and are very expensive.

This suitcase was not for the average traveler. They attracted a lot of attention, something I wanted to avoid at camp. I made a fast and difficult decision.

"It's not mine." I spoke casually. It was true.

Sawyer looked at me like I was bullshitting him. "Sure, it ain't. Hell! You're starin' that thing down like it's a diamond in a jewelry box."

I shook my head wearing my poker face.

"Then why'd you bring it up from the deep?"

I looked over at him. "Maybe there's something we can use." I tried to look semi-interested but not vested in the contents.

"Why don't you open it up?" Twenty question Sawyer! I knew it was a mistake swimming with him. He had a gleam in his eyes that meant trouble.

I glanced at it and sighed. "It's locked."

"So, it ain't yours." He almost looked like he was buying off my slight indifference.

"No. It 'ain't,' Sawyer."

Sawyer thought about it, then, being the taker and hoarder of the camp, crossed over to me and picked up the case "Well, then, I guess you won't mind if I just take it then." He was trying to call my bluff but would walk off with it if I didn't say anything.

I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of saying I wanted it, then have him ply me for information. I also didn't want him to try and con me into giving something I didn't want to give up to get it back.

I was tired of his tricks, especially after everything happening recently. I didn't flinch when he took the handle. I'd get it back later somehow.

"Go ahead." It was almost a challenge. I couldn't let my guard down now.

"I'm just gonna walk off with it and when I get it open, whatever's inside is gonna be all mine." He eyeballed me.

I was tempted to tell him where to stick the case but didn't change my demeanor. It was making me feel sick, seeing it in his hands, but I knew he couldn't open it.

There was only one way to get to the contents and I knew how.

"Fantastic." I put on my pack.

Sawyer had his shirt on and shoes by then. He looked at me carefully. "Well, all-righty then. I'll let you know what I find inside." He took off with the case leaving me behind. So much for "protectin' me."

"You do that, Sawyer." His trying to open it without the key was a joke. Only I knew where the key was.

I watched him leave. My eyes fell on the case and I couldn't help frowning.

I wasn't going to tussle over the Halliburton right now.

I didn't want to explain its origin or be the one to carry it back to camp.

* * *

The camp was in chaos when I returned. The tide was rising rapidly. It was lapping at the fuselage and had already started to flood the bottom half. People were scrambling to get luggage and things piled up further back on the beach.

Other people had already been moving things to a new campsite. It was farther down the shore at a higher elevation.

The new site had scattered trees that could be leveraged to support new shelters. People still needed help to save the luggage and the sparse camp belongings.

I hurried to take the papaya to the new site, set them on flat piece of wreckage, then ran to help. I started with my few meager belongings and tent tarp to relocate them.

* * *

By the early evening, I was tired but couldn't stop thinking about the case. The past few days were catching up with me, the horror and stress.

I needed my plane.

It was sunset. I ate and was sitting by a fire I built to warm up.

I glanced at Sawyer. He held the case like he was chained to it. He strolled by and went into entered his tent, the former infirmary. I needed to figure out how to get it back.

It was the middle of the night. Sawyer was asleep. I cracked the tent flap silently to check and saw his sleeping face in the moonlight. I was after the Halliburton.

I spotted it. _Damn Sawyer!_ He had it sandwiched between his knees on purpose. I wanted to strangle him. He must've known I would come for it or he would have set it aside or stashed it in the jungle.

I knelt down next to his prone body. Slowly, I took the handle and tried sliding the Haliburton out from between his legs.

I had no time to react to what happened next. Sawyer grabbed my arms and pulled me on top of him, wrapping his legs around my hips like a vise.

"Gotcha!" He smiled broadly, expectantly.

"Get off me!" I was angry and struggled to get away from him. I didn't like this turn of events or being touched this way without consent. I was going to hurt him if he didn't let go. He wasn't the first one to try to take advantage of me.

"Golly. I hate to bicker about positions, sweetheart. But I think you're the one on top." Sawyer enjoyinged my dilemma.

I struggled, my mind racing. He squeezed my body with his legs as if he was a boa constrictor, keeping me inches away from his face.

It was a dumb move on his part.

"So, the case ain't yours, huh?" I could feel his breath on my face. There was a trace of whiskey in it. I glared at him.

"Let me go!"

"Or maybe you ain't here for the case at all." His eyes lit up. I stared at him blankly, letting him relax a moment, thinking I had given up.

He did.

Wrong move.

I smashed my forehead into his face. He let go. I pulled away from him, scrambling to my feet.

"Hell, woman! If you wanted to play rough, all you had to do was ask." Sawyer rubbed his head.

I stood over him while crossing my arms. "Not tonight. You've got a headache."

I glanced at the Haliburton again, now by Sawyer's head, his hand clasping the handle.

"Wanna try for it again? Hell. Before I was curious. Now I'm captivated." He was still grinning despite the lump on his forehead.

I was frustrated. It was only one battle. I was waging war.

I turned and left without saying another word.

* * *

It was morning. The beach camp was officially moved to the new location minus a few oversized items. People were still bringing things over including pieces of wreckage for shelter walls, tables and more. It was heavy work.

I went for my morning fruit run. This time for mangos and papaya. I wanted to make sure I wasn't being followed by Sawyer. He was ornery enough to bring the case to taunt me.

I caught a glimpse of him trying to pick the lock with hairpins and laughed, shaking my head. _Idiot._ Pointless. He was trying to pick the lock on a mini fortress. The "protector" had forgotten me.

I grabbed a few bags and took off. The extra work setting up the camp was going to make people hungry. I headed out for my first trip, highly amused.

He couldn't open it without the key. It was safe for now. I saw Michael and Hurley stop and chat with him before I left. They were laughing at him too. He deserved it.

His failures meant he would go to extreme measures.

I would get my chance. It was a matter of time.

* * *

It was early afternoon. I hid in the lush foliage trying not to chuckle. Sawyer got some interesting advice from Michael and was apparently following it.

When I was done collecting food, I overheard everyone talking about the case and how aggravated Sawyer was. He was cursing up a storm and making a spectacle of himself.

He was looking for the axe but it was missing. Michael told Sawyer he needed "pure impact velocity" to open it without the key.

Michael and Hurley were still laughing about the various attempts he had made in camp. I overheard everything, including the fact he stalked into the jungle with it. He realized he was the butt of the joke.

He wasn't hard to find. His mouth and the racket he was making made him an easy target to locate. He left an obvious trail with his heavy tread.

Sawyer was trying to open the case by smashing it against a rock. "Come on. Come on ... God!" He managed to put a small dent in the top. He stopped and looked up. There was a tall banyan tree near him. He grabbed the case and scaled the tree as high as he could go. He stopped and looked down, several stories above.

I was poised like a track runner, my muscles full of tension and ready to spring as my chance unfolded.

"Impact velocity. Physics my ass. Alright!" He threw the case down on the rocks but it didn't open. "Son of a bitch!"

I sped by at full speed snatching up case on my way past. I paused less than a second to look up and grin at him.

He yelled from the branches above. "Hey, hey! Don't even think about it! Hey! Damn it!" I heard his voice fade behind me as I took off through the trees, wishing for more lush foliage to hide in, a cave, anything. All I had was thin trees and flat land around me.

I flew in a dead sprint trying to find a place to stash the case from him.

I was desperate to get away. I could hear his heavy footsteps catching up to me like a predator. I was irritated with him and the sparse terrain.

After pursuing me a long way, around the time I thought my body wanted to give out, he tackled me.

He wrestled and pinned me to the ground with his body. I fought and hit him for all I was worth. Then he hovered over me. My heart was racing. He used his strength to put me in a compromising position and did it with a big grin.

"Hell, Freckles, I knew you wanted it. I just didn't know how bad." He was catching his breath, pinning my arms beside my head.

I tried to head butt him again in anger. I was trying to catch my breath but still had a surge of adrenaline. I wanted him off of me. Being pressed into the earth, his body on mine, filled me with rage and desperation.

"Whoa ... You're gonna have to come up with a new move." He leaned in closer like he was going to kiss me. I head butted him in the face. "Ow, God, okay, okay!" Sawyer kneeled and grabbed the case. "Okay, this is just silly."

I pushed myself back from him and stood quickly. He did too. We faced off, circling each other.

"Hold on, wait. I've got a proposition for you. You tell me what's inside and I'll give it to you."

"Are you serious?" I didn't believe him.

"Hell! There's no way to open the damn thing. At this point all I care about is satisfying my own curiosity." He answered, sounding quasi-sincere.

"How do you know I won't just make something up?" I pressed my lips together.

Sawyer looked me over and smiled showing his dimples. "A fine upstanding citizen like you? I know you'll be straight."

He took a breath and watched me then continued. "'Cause me and you, well, let's just say we know first-hand there's a certain moral fluidity in the world, now don't we? And you know I ain't one to judge, unlike others."

I ignored his dig and said nothing, lunging for the case. "Whoa, easy, sweetheart. I don't really care what it is. What's burning me up is why it means so much to you. Last chance." I glared at him.

He knew it from the very beginning, the moment I dragged it out of the water. I wanted the damn thing. He did it all on purpose. "That's the way it's gonna be, huh?"

I pressed my lips together, my arms crossed. He sighed and walked away with the case. I watched the silver case swing back and forth in his hand.

He didn't know the measures I had already taken to get what was inside.

It was a matter of time. I _would_ get it back.


	5. Chapter 5: The Cost

_A/N: Thank you for the reviews, vinzgirl, M and Guests. Here is the final chapter. The One-Shot "Seeds" follows this chronologically._

" **We all do things we desperately wish we could undo. Those regrets just become part of who we are, along with everything else. To spend time trying to change that, well, it's like chasing clouds." -Libba Bray** **  
**

I made my way to the caves. I found Jack there with Sun going over some medicinal herbs she had in make-shift from plane bowls and parts. I walked up as Sun was explaining something to Jack using gestures. I waited a few minutes until they were done. He finally turned to me as Sun went back to what she was doing.

I didn't want to involve Jack but getting the case from Sawyer sticky-fingers was not only difficult but crossing the thresholds with me. I can't tolerate being grabbed or straddled sexually if I'm not a willing participant.

I felt my anger boil the last round of trying to retrieve the case. I don't want to hurt Sawyer physically. It tied back to my youth and painful memories I tried to keep under lock and key.

I also couldn't find the marshal's body. With no body, I had no key. I had been thinking it over and knew guns would come in handy with the Others a threat. They already kidnapped Claire and tried to kill Charlie. I was hoping that would pique his interest enough to get the case.

"Jack. We've got a problem." I stood with my hands on my hips. He looked up to see me. Sun did too. She was wrapping up the herbs she showed him and put them away.

Jack gave me a questioning look. "We've got a problem, or you've got a problem?" His tone was light but he reframing it as a personal problem, my problem. It was, for the most part.

I looked over at Sun who was listening. I knew she only spoke Korean but didn't want to talk in front her or anyone else.

"Jack. You're the only one who knows about me." I said and paused. I watched Sun out of the corner of my eye. She moved off to another area. I continued to talk after that. "Before I left Sydney, the marshal who was escorting me, he had a silver case."

Jack listened carefully, examining my face. The case caught his interest but otherwise his face betrayed nothing. We both sat together on a rock ledge at the bottom of the cave infirmary.

I took a breath. "The airline wouldn't let him bring it on the plane. It was hard enough talking them into letting him carry a gun on his ankle, but the case, they made him check it."

Jack's face didn't change. "What was in it?"

"Some traveling money, cash, some of his personal stuff . . ." I looked down at my fingers. I had been picking at a little callous forming on the tip of my thumb precisely where I held the knife when cutting fruit. I looked up at him again. "And four Sig-Sauer nine millimeters and a few boxes of ammo."

Jack's looked changed. "Guns."

I nodded.

"Where's the case?" He asked.

"Sawyer has it."

Jack's face changed at the mention of Sawyer sitting on four nine millimeters. "Uh huh." His face darkened and he went from relaxed to tense, clenching his right fist and placing his left hand over it.

Sawyer had already used the fifth nine-millimeter from the marshal's ankle holster to put 9 bullets in a polar bear. The 10th bullet he put into the marshal's lung in a botched attempt at a mercy killing. Jack had to finish the job himself.

I bit the side of my lip. "He hasn't been able to open it up yet . . ."

"Lucky us." Jack commented.

"Yeah, but he will. Sooner or later. If there are guns on the island we need to keep them safe." I said earnestly.

Jack looked at me for a moment. "So, what do you need me to do?"

"I know where the key is. He, the marshal, kept it in his wallet. It's in the back of his pants." I hoped he would yield and help.

Jack listened, absorbing the information. He shook his head at me. "I buried him, Kate."

"I know." I said. "Where?"

Jack gave me a piercing look. "What else is in the case?"

"What?" I asked.

"What else, Kate?" He asked again. He suspected I was hiding something.

"Nothing." _Nothing of consequence_ , I thought. I couldn't bring myself to tell him there was a small, plastic plane in there that was a lifeline to me and connection to my past. Nobody except the marshal knew. It was too painful.

"That's the truth?" Jack watched me.

"Just the guns." I stated. I gave him the list of every item in there except my DC-3.

Jack sat next to me, looking deeply into my eyes. I saw a mixture of belief and a trace of skepticism. I had nothing else to sway him. I would think Sawyer being in the mix would be enough. I needed him to believe me because it was the truth, except I purposely left out the plane.

"You want my help?" Jack continued to stare into my eyes intensely. I didn't waver. "We open the case together."

He was testing me.

I nodded, not breaking eye contact. "Okay."

"Okay." Jack said. He looked down for a moment, then put his hands on his knees and stood. He left the cave. I stood and followed him.

* * *

It was afternoon. Jack hiked into the jungle with me and came to an area surrounded by trees. It was remote, farther down the beach than any of them wandered and hidden. We had to climb through a thick grove of small trees to reach it. Most of the walk was done in silence.

I felt the levity of what we were about to do and didn't try to make conversation with Jack. He had put the marshal out of his misery after Sawyer's botched attempt. Edward was already dying. Afterwards, Jack stayed up all night. He buried the body under the cover of darkness.

I saw him the next morning on the beach. That's when he talked to me about us "dying three days prior" in the crash and said "We should all be able to start over." He wasn't just talking about me, but it meant a lot. He still hasn't told anyone about my being a fugitive.

We stopped when we reached the grave. It was a dark and secluded space. The job ahead of us was grim. Jack had made a cross out of two sticks and tied it with fine vine. It was staked at the in the ground.

"I never figured you for the religious type." I said quietly.

"It's just a grave-marker." He responded. I could tell he wasn't happy about returning to this spot.

I looked up at him. "Why didn't you just put him with the others when you burned the fuselage?"

Jack didn't make eye contact and stared at the marker. "Because I needed to bury him." He gave no further explanation and didn't need to. He took a large bag off his back and put it on the ground. Inside were two make-shift shovels from poles and bent pieces of sharp fuselage.

He looked at me and tossed one over. I looked down at it, the reality of what we were about to do hitting me. It gave me a cold chill. I watched Jack as he dug up the first shovelful of dirt, then joined him in exhuming the body.

It was hot, difficult work, despite the grave being shallow. We reached the body after digging down three feet. The shovels removed the last of the dirt, then the smell hit me. I covered my nose and mouth with the back of my hand, willing myself not to vomit. I kept thinking of the plane, not about what we were doing.

I was closest to the marshal's torso. Jack had dressed him in his clothes before burying him. The last time I saw him, he had no shirt on and his jacket was hanging in the infirmary. That was after he asked if I was going to "do it" as in put him out of his misery. I refused. I couldn't.

"You all right?" Jack asked. He sounded concerned.

I couldn't hold my breath any longer and gagged. After it stopped, I turned to him. "Compared to what?"

Jack's brows were knit together. "You want me to . . .?"

"No. I'll do it." I said. I held my breath again and lifted the corpse. It was stiff and lighter than a person, like a husk. I tried not to think, only get the damn wallet as quickly as possible without gagging again. I pulled it out of his pocket and climbed out quickly with it upside down in my hand feeling the weight of something drop in it.

Jack came closer. I opened the wallet. It was full of maggots. I flung it to the ground, disgusted, my left hand lightly clenched. He picked it up and brushed off the maggots, then examined the contents. His fingers brushed through the bills and he checked the change department.

He looked at me. "It isn't here."

"It isn't?" I looked disappointed but my insides were squirming. Somewhere down deep, I despised myself as I looked in his eyes.

He stepped forward quickly and grabbed my left wrist. His touch wasn't friendly. His jaw was clenched. I knew I was busted. "No but that was a nice sleight of hand, distracting me with the wallet."

He turned my hand over, "Open it."

I had no choice. I had palmed the key when I first got the wallet out. Jack still had a hold of my hand. He stared at me with a mixture of confusion, betrayal and other feelings that I couldn't read. I knew he was angry. My heart pounded.

"Jack . . ." My throat was dry. I wanted to explain even though I knew the words wouldn't come. Shame and remorse washed over me.

"Don't!" He snapped. He took the key and walked away from me, leaving me with the corpse and job of reburying him. My heart plummeted into my shoes. I knew what I was doing and why.

I deserved his anger and hatred. I didn't care about other people's opinions as much, but this was Jack. He was the one person whose perception of me mattered. I didn't want him to see me that way.

I turned away, silent tears falling, and started to shovel dirt over the body, disgusted not only with the smell but myself.

* * *

It was sunset. People were still hauling pieces of usable plane down the beach. I sat near the fuselage staring at the ocean, heartbroken.

The waves came in and pulled out whatever it could grab from the fuselage with higher tide. I was sinking into more than despair. It was the inevitable. I lied to Jack. I palmed the key.

I was stuck on hell-hole of an island with no place to run or hide from him or myself. My eyes burned from crying and the feeling of being unmoored was back. I had nothing and nobody, not even the plane full of memories.

I heard someone approaching but didn't look.

Eventually, a tall figure crossed in front of me. It was Jack. He was carrying the case. I didn't stare at it. There was no point now.

"Kate." His voice was determined. Nothing else. "We're going this together." He held the key and was ready to walk off.

I was confused why he wanted to do that, to have anything to do with me. "Why?"

Jack turned to look at me. "Because that's what I said we would do." He walked away, expecting me to follow.

I tried to understand why he would include me. I lied. I used him. Why should he keep his word to me? I stood slowly and swallowed.

I followed slowly several yards back with a sense of doom. He was going to find it. I doubted he was going to just give it to me after what I did to him.

* * *

He took me back through the jungle to the caves and sat in a secluded spot. The case was in front of him and he held the key. I sat near him but kept space between us, avoiding eye contact.

"Anything you want to tell me?" He asked. I could feel his frustration and disappointment rolling off of him in waves, pounding at me.

I looked at him with no answer. I was barely holding back my tears and panic. It felt like my lungs were in a vice, making me breath rapidly.

It didn't matter if I told him or not. He wouldn't understand. Maybe he would hate me more because the reason I lied was over something small, something that only I cared about. Obsessed with it for all those lonely years, I threw away his trust over something that fit in the palm of a hand.

Jack opened the Halliburton with the marshal's key. I looked away, avoiding it. I felt like a dog, beaten for good reason, unable to even look at the contents as he began to take them out.

I heard him take out item after item but stared in the opposite direction. I wished I was back on the beach, anyplace but there. It was only a matter of moments before he discovered it.

He continued on and eventually paused. I refused to look at him, my face damp from sweat and tears that started to escape again. I thought I didn't have any more to shed, but they showed up again under his righteous scrutiny.

"Is this it?" He asked.

There was a blockage in my throat, holding back words. It plugged a floodgate.

"Is what you wanted?"

I turned my head slightly and saw the worn, teal green envelope. I sat stiffly, waiting for him to open it.

Instead, he handed it to me and leaned forward to watch. I automatically tipped the unsealed envelope it so he could see the contents. It fell into my small palm, the tiny Douglas DC-3 airplane. I glanced down at it.

"What is it?" Jack asked. His voice was soft now. He looked at me with questions in his eyes, wanting to know, maybe understand. I looked away, my eyes and nose both running now.

"Nothing." I wiped my nose with the back of my wrist, put the plane back in the envelope and stood up. I tried to get around him. I was about to take off and run away but had to get past him to escape.

Jack blocked my path. "What it is it, Kate?" He was angry now, his raised voice echoing in the cave.

"You wouldn't understand." I shook my head, tears scattering, wanting to tear away.

He grabbed me by my left forearm and spun me around back to him. His eyes drilled into mine.

"I want the truth. Just this once." His voice was still low and face inches from mine. I was pressed lightly against the cave wall and tried to shrink further into it, not looking at him. He only saw my profile.

"What is it?" He pressed me again.

The tears had already started, the blockage lifting. He wasn't going to let me go without an explanation.

"It belonged to the man I loved." I choked out. I had already begun crying.

"The truth!" He gripped my arm even tighter and pulled me in closer.

"It belonged to the man I loved!" I raised my voice with his, desperate, wanting to get away from him, from myself.

"Stop lying to me!" His fingers dug into my arm as he escalated.

"I'm not. I . . ."

"Tell me the truth!" Jack was in my face, his eyes filled with rage fueled with a mad passion behind it, forcing words from my mouth to end this.

"It belonged to the man I killed!" I shouted. Something inside me broke when I said that. I bent over at the waist and started to sob.

His grip was gone. I couldn't stop sobbing. I staggered back to a rock to sit and hide my face, aching all the way down to my core being.

The sobs started to come out in a roaring flood. It was a grand purge, with no beginning and no end, only the sight of Tommy's dead body etched inside my brain.

I began to keen as I sobbed. My chin quivered and guts wrenched uncontrollably. My body forced it out, wave after wave, like poison.

He paced a few minutes, then the case was packed. I heard the clatter of things being tossed in and then the click of the lock. Jack left the cave.

He was gone.

Both of them were gone.

All I had left was something small and hard clenched in my hand.

* * *

It was night. I had stumbled out of the caves having no idea what time it was, only that it was twilight. Wood was still available in the stack. I made a small fire far from away from anyone and sat alone, propped against a rock.

My solitary companion was the one thing, only thing I had cared about until recently. It looked like I had killed that too.

It didn't matter how much Jack hated me. I hated myself more and my overwhelming need for this little toy. I hated my inability to explain it because it dipped far into my past, a bleak labyrinth I was afraid to step into.

My eyes were puffy red slits by then. I couldn't eat or drink.

I heard distant, evening sounds around the camp. Everyone gave me a wide berth. I didn't know what they sensed or knew but it didn't matter anymore. I had no voice or purpose. I felt like a ghost.

Somewhere, Jack was making his nightly rounds, going from fire to fire to check on everyone.

I held the plane by the tail and looked at it. It was lit up by the flames, a hellish red and orange. My soul was empty, purged of an ocean of tears that day.

I examined the DC-3 and felt nothing for the first time. There was no conjuring up the past with the golden-haired boy, giving me hope and keeping the darkness at bay. No memories flooded my mind as it took flight, propelled by hand.

Instead, I smelled the fresh soil and grass when digging up the time capsule, excited to find it and the plane with the taste of warm beer we drank.

I felt the mind-numbing horror and wetness of his blood as I touched Tommy's chest, his kind heart no longer beating.

I saw the faces of the terrified customers I recklessly put in harm's way, especially Mark Hutton, who almost got a bullet in the head from an idiot accomplice.

I heard Jack's voice yelling at me, demanding the truth while his fingers dug painfully into my arm. My tongue failed, unable explain to him in detail, to _go there_.

Everything was my fault.

I palmed it and looked into the fire. The spell was broken.

I was floating inside a broken and empty space. Inside of that, only one small thread pulled at me.

It was the only thing I cared about as I stared flames. My eyes were still stinging. It was a reflection of inner pain from self-flagellation that tattered my heart.

The other end of the thread was tied to him, but once again, I, Kate Austen, had crossed the bridge, lit a match, and blew it up behind me.

It was always my fault.

He walked by with only a slight pause before continuing his solo journey down the beach.


End file.
